Her Angel
by VanHelsings angel
Summary: Leah: 21st Century. Erik: 19th Century. Setting: 20th Century. Out of their own time, out of their own places. It seems the world has forgotten the Phantom of the Opera, and moved on. But with the help of one girl, he will be back with a vengance!
1. It's Him

Disclaimer: I don't own Phantom or anything like that. You know the deal. It belongs to Gaston and ALW and…

A/N: It's a kind of… 'Different' start, but the plot bunny wouldn't leave me alone…

So yeah, R+R, and I may be a little slow at getting following chapters up but bear with me… End of year school and stuff… Enjoy!

Phantom World: 2004 movie.

Warnings: None at the present… but the rating may change.

Her angel

They embraced. She held him tight, resting her head on his shoulder.

She gripped him as if he was an illusion, a dream, as if he was going to slip through her fingers.

She held him close, and breathed in his scent, taking the smell deep within her soul, swearing to herself never to forget it.

He smelt warm and musky, with a small hint of rose, just as she had imagined, so many times before.

She sighed, the most sound she could manage to make.

"Yes my Angel, I am here." He whispered only centimetres from her ear.

She shivered, and began to quiver slightly. She let go of him, and held her Angel at arms length.

His dark hair was a stark contrast to his white mask.

He cut an imposing figure, her Angel.

"Why do you tremble before me?" he asked in his low, silky smooth baritone voice.

His wild green eyes were calm and inquiring behind the mask.

"My Angel… Erik… why do you come to me? Me? Of all people? Surely I am not the most musically talented in the world? What have I done to deserve your presence? Why…" Erik silenced her, putting a hand to her white cheek.

He began to hum 'Music of the Night'. Her dark eyes widened, and she let herself become immersed in the music.

_God,_ she thought, _if this is heaven, please let me die. _Because, consciously, she knew she still lived and breathed.

Her Angel came to the end of the song, and her legs gave way.

The Phantom caught her as she fell, and lifted her effortlessly into his arms, and carried her to his swan bed, where she was surrounded by red silk.

He sat beside her, stroking her brown hair gently.

Then for the first time, she payed attention to her surroundings.

She was in _his_ lair! She gasped; saw the shattered mirrors and headless mannequin.

"How? Why?" She whispered, her head swimming. Hadn't the Phantom left? Disappeared? So many questions.

She looked down at her dress. She was in a light blue dress that gathered at the waist, then hung loosely to her shins.

This wasn't her gown. She was a twenty-first century girl, and no matter how much she dreamed, nothing had ever been as real as this.

Her Angel was sitting not a foot from her; she could feel his warmth against her side. A tear rolled down her cheek. It was overwhelming.

"Leah…" he uttered the word as a caress, "Please do not cry, I wish no harm upon you… and if I did… It would have been carried out by now…"He said softly, the left side of his mouth twisted into a smile.

But in a way it seemed forced, unnatural… Leah knew he could have killed her in an instant, he was dangerous and unpredictable like that, and she respected him for it.

She knew he had been through many hardships in his life, and the expression was a result of those torments, but still, it bothered her.

And also stirring on the edge of her mind was her similarity to Christine, to Christine's arrival in his cellar…

"Erik, what concerns you? I can feel your unsettlement."

He gave a harsh laugh that echoed in the vast emptiness of the cave, bouncing off the ragged walls, making Leah jump.

"What does not bother a soul such as mine?" he asked her, getting up, walking to his music stand, running his gloved fingers over a yellowed and fading score.

The faint title read, 'Don Juan '.

But that made no sense. Had not the 'Don Juan' score burnt in the fire at the opera house? Hadn't she seen the parchment burn on the screen?

"I regret many actions in my long life, some much more than others…" He continued, his face hardening at his last words.

"People, words, actions, they all haunt my dark mind… But what does that matter? It has been done. The past is better forgotten."

Her heart went out to this mysterious man, his words ringing true to her.

She swung her legs delicately over the side of the golden bed, placing her feet on the cold floor.

She recoiled at how her actions matched Christine's, and she swept down the few steps to stand slightly behind The Phantom. "But Erik, our past makes up who we are…" And he turned to her,

"And who I am,_ what_ I am, is the result of my past. I would say the result of a _bad_ past, would you not?" She hated to see her Angel like this, and went on…

"Your past… well, maybe _is_ better off forgotten, but as much as you try to avoid it, you can not escape it, no matter how bitter it has made you."

She let go of his shoulder, feeling small and insignificant in front of him.

"Erik I lo…" But she checked herself before she could finish. She loved him? How could she love him? She had seen him in films, Stories, but she did not even know the man, therefore she could not love the real being.

"Yes? You what?" He said somewhat impatiently. "You pity me? You are frightened of me? My past? My past… Associations?" he said grudgingly.

He was doing precisely what she had told him not to, he was hiding from his past.

Christine was clearly still a tender subject.

Leah wondered how much time had passed since Don Juan. She wondered how much time had passed, full stop.

"Erik, what year is it?" she asked timidly, standing just out of his reach.

"It is 1899. Why do you ask, Leah?" he answered in a questioning tone.

She did a fast mental calculation. So Christine was well and truly old, yet the Phantom was almost unchanged.

He did look weary, the problems of ages looked as if they weighed on his shoulders, and he bore under his eyes worry and heartache.

But he could easily have been from the day after Christine left him for the last time.

He had lost none of his aristocratic and proud air, even though he was clearly depressed.

Should the opera house not be in ruin after the night of Don Juan Triumphant if it was 1899?

Did the mob not find him and his lair? Or had they taken pity on the wretched man in his dank watery hole?

As she thought this, she had to hold back a sob for her Angel. "I am just disoriented. I can not remember how I got here. Erik, Could you take me to the surface?"

He snorted, and looked to the ceiling of the lair. "The surface, my Dear? No, no, no. The surface turned its back on the Angel of music long ago, so the Angel of Music does the same." Another smile softened his icy expression slightly, "You will stay with me." He said simply.

Inside herself, she gasped. He was never going to let her go. He was not going to let another woman slip from his grip, when she clearly praised him like a god.

He had learnt from his mistakes. "But… But Erik, how did I get here? What will my family say when they find me gone? I _must _return."

Now she was pleading with him.

"But, Leah, did you not wish for an Angel of Music on your birthday, every Birthday, from your 14th onwards? Now here I am, and you can stay with me forever."

How did he know that? _No one _knew that.

"But Erik please! I did not even get to say goodbye to my family!"

Her eyes were pleading, as was every inch of her soul, with him to let her understand, to let him free her, her tears were welling up.

She suddenly understood Christine's plight completely, after all her years of calling her stupid to want to leave such a man and a place.

Although she did not fear the Phantom, as Christine had done, she felt frightened just the same.

Suddenly, from watching her passively, the phantom burst, wailing a cry to the whole cave.

He cried out in anguish, and leant on his organ.

"I cannot keep a woman for a day without disturbing her mind," He put his face into his hands. "See what I have become?"

Leah walked slowly and carefully over to him, avoiding various scores of music, and stood at his side.

Gently she took his hand and stood him up.

He looked absolutely shattered.

Then great wracking sobs took his body, and he shook, leaning into her arms, sinking his head into her neck, and letting the long pent-up tears escape.

He was a full head-and-a-half taller than Leah, yet she felt as if he was trying to hide himself in her small frame.

She raised her hand carefully and stroked his dark hair, whispering, "Shhhhh… It is alright, my poor Angel of Music… It is alright, I am here, and I am not afraid."

Then she sighed, she could not leave The Phantom, he needed to be loved.

Yet there were so many unfinished things in her life in the real world.

She didn't know if she was ready for such a radical change.

She did not even know what happened to her family.

"I will stay with you…" she said slightly more surely than she felt, "I love you, and I'm not afraid…" She said again, to reassure herself, but she was not sure who she was saying it to to comfort more now, her, or Erik.

His sobbing slowed, his shaking receded, but his bottom lip was still quivering as he pulled away from her, eyes red-rimmed.

"I have not been held by a woman in so long… and never so passionately…" He looked at her obviously thinking hard, fighting to come to a decision inside.

"I will take you to the surface."


	2. To the Surface

Disclaimer: Eh, you know the deal, nothing's mine.

A/N: (Does happy dance) School's over, so heres the next chapter. And please 'scuse the French… I did try, and I think I did okay…

Chapter 2

Leah sat silently in the black gondola, the skull on the front mesmerising her with its gentle swaying.

The only sounds were her heart, and the slight splash of The Phantom's oar as it hit the murky waters of the underground lake.

All around her, images of bearded men where carved into the stone, leering down at her, empty eyes glaring.

She shivered even though it was not cold, and she was covered in a black cloak.

Erik, behind her, had a cape drawn tightly about his shoulders, the hood draped low over his face.

In the darkness, she couldn't see his mask, or his eyes, so his expression, for the moment, was concealed.

Again, she questioned how the gondola had been docked, quietly bumping the shore, in the Lair.

Raoul and Christine had taken the boat, and surely the phantom could not have cared less about it after they left, but then again maybe he had wadded out to retrieve it.

Under her cloak, she shrugged, and looked up. The concrete edge of the walkway to the spiral staircase lay just before the boat, and The Phantom was already jumping to it, tying up the boat.

He held out his hand with a nod, and she took it, wobbling in the unbalanced craft.

She jumped, and fell into Erik's arms, straightening up quickly.

The silence of her Angel was odd, yet she did not want to force him into conversation he did not want.

But being an inquisitive soul, she had so many burning questions.

As they walked towards his black steed, one burst from her. "Erik, how did I come from my world to yours? I mean…"

He did not turn to look at her, as he tightened the girth on the saddle, as though this question came as nothing of a surprise.

"Do you remember what you were doing, just before you found yourself in my arms?" He asked quietly.

She thought hard, but there seemed to be a wall of blackness in her mind. "Was I…" She burrowed through the wall, but still, not all would come back to her. "Was I in bed, reading, as I am every night before I sleep?"

"Yes, Leah, you were. Do you remember what you were reading, what you were thinking?" He probed lightly, as he pulled down a stirrup that was intricately etched with roses and swirls of pattern.

As she looked closer, she realised the whole leather of the saddle was patterned. "I was… reading… The Phantom of the Opera… and wishing I could be with you…?"

She said cautiously, as though the memories would sting her.

"And have you not heard of the power of dreams?" He at last turned to her, and under the low hood, she saw a knowing smile curling his lips. "Combined with the powers of the Angel of Music, anything can eventuate."

"So I just… am? I'm just her because you wanted it, and I wanted it enough?" She said in resolution.

"Yes, Leah" he whispered in the silence, a chilling sound.

He held out his had to her, inviting her to mount the horse.

She smirked mischievously at him, grabbed the pommel of the saddle, and hoisted herself onto the stallion's back.

Sitting astride it, she grinned down at Erik.

Side saddle was definitely _not_ for her.

"It would appear you have ridden before." He said as he began to walk, not leading the horse as he had done with Christine.

Leah kicked the horse on, and trotted to walk beside him.

Again the silence fell, but this time rhythmically punctuated by the clop of hooves.

The ride was relatively short, and dismounting, she could already hear the soft hum of the street above.

She couldn't hide her excitement; she couldn't wait to see and early-twentieth century France.

As they emerged from the top of the stairs (which now ended in a trapdoor, not the candelabra filled corridor), She could not hold back a gasp for the sight that met her eyes.

Through the darkness of the night she had come up into, she could see this was no longer Christine _or _Carlotta's dressing room.

In fact, it was no longer a dressing room at all. It was a pile of rubble, as were most of the walls.

The second floor of the Opera House no longer existed, there were only a few pillars of glorious white marble left, the only outside wall of the Opera left standing was the one to their backs.

The other three sides of the Theatre were open to the elements.

The Main staircase was still half standing, a lasting monument to the splendid opulence of the once-great Opera house.

"Yes, Leah, this is my domain, my Theatre. This is what it has become, it is exceptionally sad that such a magnificent structure should come to this. It almost mirrors me…"

He looked down, and then threw his head up to the darkness, to the pinpricks of light that were stars and cried, "My Opera was a success, but it brought down my Opera House. Now it is pillaged by any street filth, slept in by the homeless, battered by the weather. It is a mere shadow of what it was," He finished, and began trudging through the ruins.

Silently, she followed, looking around her feet at the piles of debris. Here and there, there lay a poster for a long-since finished Opera, or a tarnished golden candle stick.

She sighed slowly, the Opera House had been beautiful… it was such a pity.

"What ever happed to Andre' and Firmin?" she wondered aloud. Erik caught her words, and replied with a chuckle. "The 'Scrap Metal' business looked profitable to them after their financial catastrophe with the Opera. I daresay they won't delve into the arts again…" he finished with a smile.

They stepped onto a dark cobbled street, Leah taking in the sights of the beautiful architecture around them.

_If Mrs. Hensby could see me now, she'd turn green with envy…_ she thought as she remembered her over-enthusiastic History teacher.

They began to walk slower as they emerged from a narrow alley into the bustling crowds of a French Night-Market.

All around Leah and The Phantom there seethed masses of people, with stalls selling cheeses, wines, a whole assortment of pastries, small wooden boxes, and all manner of nick knacks.

She gasped as a small boy and his friend ran under her legs, and she sent an angry glare after them.

Leah began to wonder why Erik had brought her here. He clearly hated the crowds, and did not really come across as a people-person.

"Would you like something to eat, Leah?" he called back to her, his voice almost drowned out by the noise of chatter, "The pastries of Paris are like none you have tasted before."

She sniffed all the different smells of the market, and declined his offer.

There was just too much to see.

They weer approaching the edge of the marketplace when she lost sight of her guide completely.

She spent a few terrifying moments, completely alone in the bustle, standing still, psyching herself to cry out.

She was about to move, when a black gloved hand grabbed her from behind, and pulled her from the crowd.

She heaved a sigh of relief as she found herself in Erik's grasp, and gave him a brief hug and a grateful look, then continued to follow him.

"Where are we going?" she asked bluntly, with sincere excitement in her voice.

"You will see when we get there." The Phantom said quietly, which only added to her anticipation.

They were coming to the outskirts of the city, when they passed a Blacksmith, swords and ancient armour hanging on the wall.

The silence of the street was disturbing, and clearly, something was amiss.

Erik stopped dead on the cobbles; the only sound in the dark was the creaking of the sign hanging from the Blacksmith's wall.

Leah walked a little further, to stand beside him.

"Erik, Do you…" She was quickly hushed as Erik's eyes darted around the alley.

At the sound of the unsheathing of a sword, an armed, dark-cloaked man leapt from the low roof of a house.

He was taller than Erik, and a sight that chilled the blood.

He was a true pirate, numerous earrings, blackened teeth, a huge rapier at his hand, daggers hanging from his belt, and a leering smile.

"Donnez-moi votre argent," he sneered in a rough, gravely voice.

Taking a hulking step forward, Leah stepped back, but Erik held his ground.

With her back against the wall, she whispered, "What did he say?"

With out looking away from the Pirates' face, Erik replied slowly, "He wants our money…" Standing straight and still.

Leah whimpered, but slowly inched her arm up the wall to grasp a sword. _Medieval Guild, don't fail me now, _She said to herself.

The Guild she was in at home had taught her many things, archery, swordsmanship, ancient dress, even the old way of speaking.

Even though in this age, the early 20th century, the speech was not 'Thou' and 'Art', it was still proper, with added formalities.

At least she could escape 'like' for a time, she thought grimly, as she readied her stance, and advanced on the pirate.

"You shall not be stealing from this girl."

"Leah! No!" The Phantom cried, as the robber lunged at her with his own sword.

She side-stepped lightly, slashing her sword across her opponents back, drawing only a little blood, but severing the sash that held his daggers.

The weapons clattered to the ground with astonishing noise, and he rounded on her furiously.

The weapons clashed, sending sparks into the night, The Pirates' face only inches from her own.

He uttered some incoherent French through gritted teeth, and pushed her to the ground.

He spat at her feet, and stood towering over her, with his rapier Raised above his head.

Then, whistling from the shadows there came a Punjab lasso, but its mark was missed as The Pirate thrust his sword directly towards Leah's chest.

She rolled aside just in time to miss the full brunt of its force, but the cold steel was plunged deep into her upper arm.

She screamed in pain and outrage, an agony unlike any she had ever felt before sliced searing hot through her body.

The Robber drew his weapon away bloodied; a satisfied look on his dirty features.

He repeated his demand. "Donnez-moi votre argent."

Leah pushed herself through the burning sensation that gripped her mind, screwing up her face, concentrating her energy into her actions.

"No!" She yelled, thrusting upwards with her sword into the Pirates stomach, and being splattered with blood.

He howled, and ran, ran with his hands holding the profusely bleeding wound, screaming profanities to the sky.

He disappeared from view, but his yells did not.

She struggled to get up, but was held down by strong hands, and she found herself once more in Erik's grip, his face close to hers.

"Erik. He got me!" She said, with hurt and surprised dignity in her voice, her vision clouding gradually.

"Hush, my Angel, I am here…" He calmed her with only his voice, ripping a strip of black material from the hem of his cloak.

He wiped blood spatters from her face and eyes, looking compassionately over her arm.

"Don't…" she slurred, looking at his magnificent garment, but stopping, now noticing the spreading pool of crimson around her shoulder.

He bound her arm tightly, and then suddenly, all pain stopped.

Even though her vision was dark she mustered the strength to slur, from her own world it seemed, "Erik, It… doesn't hurt… anymooor… We should go no…"

But she never finished her sentence, a gloved finger was put to her lips, and she felt herself lifted up.

The last thing she saw before unconsciousness completely engulfed her in its cool depths was the dark outline of her angel against the Parisian sky.


	3. Suicide?

Disclaimer: Eh. Not mine, and sadly enough, I didn't get the Phantom for Christmas… Ho Hum.

A/N: Happy New Year all, and don't forget your Masquerade Parties and masks.

Chapter 3

Early morning light was streaming through a shuttered window, and as Leah emerged from the deep folds of sleep, she remembered the previous night.

"Erik! Where is Erik?" She cried to the empty room.

As she struggled to sit up in the clean white sheets, a nurse bustled in through the wide oak door, in a long Gown and a hat that in Leah's opinion, looked as if it would take off and fly.

The Nurse looked young, maybe eighteen, with straw-blonde hair sticking in straggles from beneath the hat.

For all her young appearance, she still gave off an air of friendly authority.

"Peace, M'Dear, Peace, your Erik will be here soon," She said softly as she opened the curtains on the window and checked the dressing on Leah's wound.

"Please Miss," she croaked, in a voice not her own, "Who are you? And where am I?"

"Ah, 'tis best not to worry yourself with these things so soon, but I am Sarah." She said, with a slight English lilt to her voice. "I'll be up with your breakfast soon, but in the meantime, I think it best you lay back and rest, was quite a wound you had."

She walked from the room, and turned down a corridor.

Leah lay back on plumped pillows, and looked around the room.

She was in a huge four-poster bed, surrounded by gossamer curtain, and to the right of the bed there was the sunny window, looking out onto the busy Paris streets.

To the left was the large door, and a giant wardrobe.

At the foot of the bed there was a dressing table, adorned with perfumes and make-up from all over the world.

This was clearly the room of a wealthy lady, or of someone of such society.

Persian carpet decorated the hardwood floors, with complex patterns of flowers, and beasts of Africa.

She heard the voice of the Nurse from the end of the corridor; she was conversing with someone who sounded like her supervisor of sorts.

"Mornin' 'Liza. She woke with a terrible start, callin' for her 'Erik'. Wonder who he is? Lover maybe? She looks terrible young to have a lover… Could he be a Father or brother mayhap?"

Leah smiled in her Nurses' (as she assumed she must be) ignorance. Nothing could be further from the truth.

"She seems t'be doing well for the most part…" Sarah continued, "A little restless, her sleepin' was, but that's to be expected. The wound looks to be healin' nicely. Now if you don't mind. I'd like to be taking my breakfast; I've been up most the night with the little wretch." She finished, and Leah heard the sound of the little Nurse beginning down a flight of stairs.

"You are excused, Sarah," said an old woman's' voice, but Leah really wondered if it mattered to Sarah whether she had been excused or not.

This voice was a sight more educated than Sarah's, but it still had the English twang.

The older woman appeared in her doorway, and greeted her kindly.

"I bid you a Good Morning, Miss. I fear I do not know your name…" She trailed off.

"Leah. My name is Leah," she rasped. Her voice was like a gate that had not been oiled, and was slowly getting the squeak used out of it.

"Hmmm, that'd be the medicine, it's not kind on the throat, but it works to ward off infection." Again she smiled kindly, "I'd like to know more of the story of the girl we found bloodied and wrapped in a dark cloak on our doorstep. I presume it was not you who rang our bell to attract our attention here in the infirmary."

"I… don't think I know either…" she said. "I was with a friend, and I… fainted."

Leah knew this was a sketchy story, not exactly enough to explain the sword-wound and the mysterious companion.

The older Nurse gave her a look of doubt and disbelief, but Leah was not going to betray Erik.

Obviously the ladies of this place knew nothing of 'Erik', the man of her odd ramblings, and she began to worry how much she had given away in her delirious mumbles.

Leah tried to look earnest, but looked down at the coverlet, unable to hold the woman's unrelenting stare.

"Who is Erik?" she asked directly, the very question that Leah was afraid of.

Leah couldn't answer it. And if she did not, she would appear rude to her kind guardians, who had shown her care when they did not even know her.

"He…" She stammered, "He… is my lover." She said simply. It was not a lie, even if the feeling was not mutual.

"Oh, Dear…" the Nurse said softly, with understanding, all the disbelief and hardness disappearing from her eyes. "Is he… Alright?" she asked.

"No." she replied shortly, remorseful at what she was about to say, "He is dead."

_No! _She thought furiously, _In no way do I wish Erik dead. Not Erik… _She let a single tear escape from her eye.

"Oh, you poor girl, I remember what it was like to be young and in love…." She sighed, nostalgia in her old eyes. "Do not worry… He will be alright, He is with God now…" She said as she rose from her place on Leah's bed.

"Sarah will be back up with your meal soon, rest up. You are looking well." She went to the door, pausing, looking back around.

"How old are you, Dear?" she asked, her eyes bright with curiosity.

"Sixteen." She said, and with a nod, the Nurse left.

"Sixteen! Sixteen Sarah! So young…" Eliza exclaimed as she sat down.

Sarah looked up from the breakfast she was preparing, "Not quite _that _young Ma," she said, "Some girls in Ole' Mother England are given away at fifteen… Not the life for me, I'm a'feered."

Eliza laughed, looking at her 'adopted' daughter. "That's right, your Mother set you here to me because you refused to marry, and she couldn't handle you."

"Oh, and you can? Old One?" Sarah giggled, and ran to the other side of the kitchen, spilling the pitcher or water she was carrying down her dress.

Eliza tutted, and rolled her eyes. "If I wasn't so worried, I'd show you a beating you'd not soon forget."

"Why are you so worried Ma?" Sarah asked sitting down at the kitchen bench, across form her own guardian, with the full tray of breakfast for the girl Leah.

"Her lover has died, and it appears she is alone. She would not tell me clearly who the 'Friend' she was with last night was. I am beginning to suspect here was none. It seems she was brought to the infirmary by the simple kindness of a stranger."

Sarah shifted in her seat uncomfortably, not exactly seeing where Eliza's statement was leading, but feeling odd about it all the same. "Then what of the girls' hideous wound Eliza?" she whispered, all hilarity gone from her demeanour.

"And attempt at suicide, I believe." Eliza said frankly, nearly without expression.

Almost the entire infirmary was catholic, and Eliza and Sarah were quite devoted to their religion.

Sarah clutched at the rosary that hung around her neck under the robes, and gasped to herself. Suicide… the greatest sin.

"But… a stab to th' arm, and a ragged one at that… 'Tis not really the conventional method of suicide in these parts…"

"Sarah, you know nothing of love… and a lost love can drive one quite mad…" Eliza said, "And this Leah is not at all conventional, I find her strange… not as most Parisians… it is as if she is from another land altogether… who knows of her ways…"


	4. He Returns!

Disclaimer: Nothin's mine. Ooo! Hold on, Leah's mine, and Sarah, and Eliza…

A/N: Wow, is only one person still following me? Well, please R+R.

Chapter 4

Leah lay restlessly in her bed; the gentle breeze blowing the curtains was scented with all the smells of a Paris day… She longed to be out in it.

Her arm was completely still, but when she moved it, it still ached.

She furiously wondered where Erik was, and why he had left her, if he was even going to come back.

Although all these doubts ran through her head, she still had faith in her Angel; he would not leave her here unless it was completely necessary…

Again, the door creaked open to admit Sarah, her rosy demeanour slightly faded, and her movements restrained.

"I've brought you Breakfast… I hope you like it… And you must eat to keep your strength up…" She bent hesitantly over Leah's bed, and placed the tray carefully on the girls lap.

Sarah stepped away, and Leah began to eat. As Leah began to take a bite into a warm pastry, she noticed Sarah was still watching her.

Sarah saw the eyes of the girl come to rest on her. "Miss?" Leah said questioningly.

Sarah looked uncomfortably round the room, then asked, "What was he like?" quietly.

Leah drank deeply from her glass. The water felt like it was hitting the bottom of an empty wine barrel. She was starving.

"What was who like?" she asked, having an inkling of the name she was about to hear, but wondering why the Nurse avoided saying it.

"Erik," She shuddered, "What was Erik like?" Sarah congratulated herself at her own courage, and checked herself at her snooping.

Did she really want to know of the man that drove this seemingly sane and normal girl to suicide?

For a moment Leah stared at the Nurse uncomprehendingly. She now had to invent a person… and quickly…"Well…" she began slowly, "He had a head of dark hair…" that was not really too far from the truth. "He is tall, handsome, perfect, I think… but others are inclined to believe differently…" she grimaced, these thinks also not _too_ far from reality.

Sarah looked uneasy. _"Perfect, I think… but others are inclined to believe differently…"_ this was it.

Erik was strange in some way, but regardless, Leah loved him, and would accept no different…Perchance Leah's parents were opposing their joining… and that is what drove them both to Elope?

Sarah really was letting her imagination run wild now, and persisted, "…How… How did he… How did he die?"

Leah thought fast, "He hung himself," she blurted, and could barely stop herself from letting her hand fly to her mouth, so she busied those hands in cutting her eggs.

Sarah gasped. More Suicide… "Is… Did he hang himself… for regret? Sadness? Is it because you two could never be?" She added the last sentence quickly.

Leah looked up from her food. This Nurse was making up her own story, she was practically writing Leah's history herself. Well let her believe what she wanted. "Yes. My parents were unrelenting, and said we were never to marry. He hung himself for me." She did not falter now.

This woman did not have any business in her matters.

"Why did you do it? You had so much ahead of you… a life, a family… and now you are damned… Why?" Sarah gabbled.

"Are you saying…" Leah furrowed her brows, "That you think I tried to kill myself also?" she asked incredulously.

The she began to think, how else cold she explain the blade wound without endangering Erik?

"I wish to rest…" she said resolutely, as she pushed her tray away, and pulled up the sheets.

Sarah took the barely touched tray of food, and left, but when she got to the door she mumbled, barley audibly, "Beggin' your pardon for pryin' to far, M'Lady," and closed the door.

The day passed slowly, Eliza coming in to Leah's room occasionally to check her charge's dressing, and make sure she was well.

Not much conversation was initiated, and now Eliza was reserved around Leah too.

Sarah did not come back, and Leah now knew why.

The infirmary was catholic, and as far as she knew, Suicide was a great sin.

Leah sighed to herself as she looked out of the window into a clear Parisian day, drawing to a close in the gathering twilight.

Eliza fussed over her arm, putting fresh bandaged on the wound. Leah looked around as the last of the old dressings came off.

The gash was red and a little swollen, but it looked clean and did not hurt as much anymore.

The stitches were done in rough nylon, but were neatly executed by an experienced hand.

"This was a dirty blade that did this to you, Leah." Eliza said simply. It was a remark, not a question. "But it is healing well; you should be well again in… two, three days maybe?"

Eliza made the girl down a vial of dark opaque liquid, then fixed a clip to the fabric, and left Leah alone again with her thoughts.

The first stars were beginning to appear, and Leah quickly made a wish.

She didn't know why she still believed in wishing on stars, but in the light of the last day or two, anything seemed possible.

She settled back onto the pillows and closed her eyes, watching the last rays of sunlight play on her eyelids.

Leah dozed off and woke with a jerk, startled by her surroundings, expecting to wake to her poster of 'The Phantom of the Opera London Stage Show Production' stuck to the ceiling of her slightly flaking red-and-black painted room.

But instead, she woke to this almost Renaissance-looking room.

The stars now twinkled brightly in the inky darkness of the sky, and looking at this, she could almost fool herself into thinking she was home.

Settling down for sleep again, her attention was slowly caught by the slightly shifting curtains.

The white floor length curtains draped a window that looked out onto a small balcony, a nice view of the street below, but not much wind reached them.

Moments ago, there was no breeze, not even a whisper of wind in the sky, now the gentle breeze was more of an insistent soft wind.

Then as if by magic, the windows were open, and the white curtains framed an entirely black-clad form, the stark contrast brilliantly illuminating in the dark night.

His cloak swirled around him in the breeze, making him a grand figure, his mask the only white in his clothing.

"Erik! My Angel!" She cried breathlessly, shivering at the magnificence of his entrance and form, as well as the biting cold. "I knew you would not leave me."

With his long dark cape still being tossed in the wind, he advanced toward the bed, her imposing Angel of Music in all his glory.

He leant down and lifted her effortlessly from the covers, placing her gently on her feet, yet still holding her close if she were to fall. "Yes, my dear Leah, I have come for you." He whispered into her ear.

He held her by her shoulders at arm length, his eyes looking black as his cloak in the gloom, the intense look not lost in the dark. "Are you ready, my Dear?" He asked, holding out his hand for her taking, and Leah was again struck by the beauty and magnificence of her Phantom in the night.

She took his had willingly, with a roguish, thankful and admiring smile.

He held her hand tightly as he walked her slowly toward the balcony, his eyes never leaving her.

He stopped at the intricate balustrade, took a last look at her, and leapt into the night, sailing down to the street below, still holding tight Leah's trusting hand.


	5. Back to the Lair

Disclaimer: The Phantom of the Opera isn't mine. But Leah is! MOO HA HA.

A/N: Yay! New chappie! The next chapter should be up very soon, too… I hope not everyone's run away… Damn real life! Anywho, R+R if you're still following me…

Chapter 5

Leah gasped as the cold wind whipped past her, sending her nightgown flying, the odd sensation of falling filling her mind.

They landed with a soft thump, not the hard jolt she expected.

"Erik, how…" she began, but when he sent a small smile her way, the question melted from her lips.

He set off at a brisk pace, almost a run, but not quite, the soft candlelight of the other windows of the infirmary slowly fading from sight.

It was almost morning and the orange glow of sunlight had begun to seep onto the horizon.

"We must get back to the Opera house before sunrise… I am not one who likes to contend with early morning shoppers… or daylight, for that matter…" Erik finished, and Leah took a closer look at his skin.

It was a pallid colour, more so than on the big screen… It reminded her of the Michael Crawford phantom… He had always frightened her as a child…

But now, it seemed that _this _Phantom never left his lair in daytime… She had always known darkness was The Opera Ghosts friend… Yet now he looked sicklier than ever.

She followed him through the many streets, never stoping for more than a minute for her to catch her breath.

At last, when the high wall of the opera house had just come into view, Leah felt a dull ripping sensation, then, for a moment, nothing.

Then an intense searing filled her arm, and she came to an abrupt halt, trying to clutch her limb, but the pain only intensified.

She stumbled, and grabbed Erik's cloak as he turned, almost pulling him down with her.

He scooped her up, noting the blood now dribbling from the re-opened wound.

"Hush, I'll stich it back up, no matter," he whispered, as he began to walk again.

All the way back to the lair, he muttered nothings to her, keeping her on the plane of consciousness.

He stepped into the Black gondola, Leah's head lolling into the crook of his neck, her eyes unfocussed.

He rowed quickly and quietly through the underground passage.

No music filled the corridors now, no Opera, Erik sighed, not even the voice of that croaking toad Carlotta echoed around now…

Leah whimpered as he swirled off his heavy cloak, and placed Leah gently on the stool of his piano.

She lent back, and struck three keys, low and forlorn, Erik looked at her, she was not Christine, and he was yet to know if she could sing as well… could he love her? Could she _truly_ love a monster?

"My Dear, I though you were stronger than this," He crooned, beginning to mop up blood, and threading a needle, as she continued a quiet whimper.

The first prick brought Leah around, crying out in protest.

"If you wish to heal, you will hold still, it will not take long." He said firmly, while Leah watched deft fingers work.

He knotted the strand, and broke it, with a final "Ow!" from Leah.

"It is done. You may get up now." Erik stated, as Leah rose, heedless of the instruction from her current guardian.

She barely managed to stagger over to the golden bed, when she collapsed, "I am so… tired…" She uttered into the folds of the covers, seeing a concerned shadow watching her as she yet gain fell into a dead sleep.


	6. Home Without Him

Disclaimer: Again? Oh well… Phantom's not mine.

Chapter 6

Leah's eyelids flickered, then shot open, and she sat up with a start. She had had peculiar dreams, twists of the modern and the past.

There had been glimpses of tall dark figures with swords and guns, candles and fluorescent lights.

She looked at the black-painted ceiling above her head, and saw a poster of 'The Phantom of the Opera' from Broadway… _Her_ poster of Phantom on Broadway…

Here eyes darted around her own room… her furniture, her posters, her CD player, her stuffed animals.

Where was the Lair?

She got up and looked down at her sweat-pants and long sleeved t-shirt, her normal pyjamas.

She went over and touched a wall. It held, but she still couldn't get her head around being home.

"Erik?" she called, but she was alone in her small, dim room. She ripped open the curtains to find her window veiled from the outside by a huge tree.

Turning to exit the dark place, she tentatively opened her door, and peered down the upstairs corridor of her house, seeing the door to her brother's room.

A low _boom boom boom boom _emitted from the closed door, the low sound of his music.

She walked slowly and quietly to it, still feeling like she was an intruder into someone else's life, into someone else's world.

Leah knocked, then rolled her eyes. There was no way in hell he was going to hear her knock over Linkin Park.

She pushed the door open a crack, and saw her brother sitting on his bed, with his tongue down a blonde girls' throat.

"Matt?" She said, pulling disgusted a face and catching her brothers' attention.

"What the Hell! Get out of my room!" He yelled at her over the 'music'. He picked up a basket ball by the side of his bed among the clothes and CD covers that littered the floor, and aimed it at her head.

Leah gasped and slammed the door, just missing the ball, which thumped into the wood and bounced away.

She didn't remember Matt being such an ass, but he was a boy... In fact, she didn't remember much about him, or anything about this house.

Standing on the landing, again she called louder this time, "Erik!" as she looked at the flaking paint of the ceiling, and the door to the attic.

Sighing, accepting her Phantom-Guardian was not around, she started down the stairs, glancing at the pictures that plastered the walls.

Stopping at the last one, she trailed her fingers over it; there was herself, her brother, her… Father? She shook her head and moved on.

She was famished and looked out a window to see the sun high in the sky. It looked to be almost mid-day.

Wandering aimlessly, she (somehow) found herself in the kitchen.

She fumbled with the pantry doors, assessing the food it held, when a voice rumbled from behind her. "So the Oh-So-Sleepy one has risen to join the living, eh? Yet you stay up to all hours listening to your opera-shit." A rough hand took the back of her shirt and whirled her round, a hand connecting with her cheek.

She lifted her own hand to her smarting cheek, seeing the man who now held her.

He wasn't exceptionally tall, or imposing; he was the kind of man one wouldn't look twice at, yet his deep brown-green eyes were familiar. She had seen them so many times before when she looked in the mirror she could not mistake them.

"Dad?" she whispered quietly, disbelievingly. His breath was rank with the smell of alcohol, his words were slightly slurred.

"Don't 'Dad' me, whore. And who's Erik? Another one of you thousand boyfriends?" He slapped her again, letting her go.

She fell to the floor, gasping for breath, the abuse startling her. She cowered on a seat at the kitchen table, which itself was strewn with paperwork with things such as 'OVERDUE' and 'LAST NOTICE' stamped on them. Old coffee cups and beer bottles were abundant, too.

Quietly a tear escaped, but she would not sob. She would not break down in front of this man and give him the reaction he wanted.

"Where the Hell have you been the past day and a Night? 'Been bashing your door nearly down, but I didn't get an answer… Out with your whoring friends?" He said as he staggered towards her.

"Where's mum?" She said with the strain of keeping her tears inside evident in her voice.

"Your mother!" He yelled, with his voice rising in drunken anger, "Bitch! Whore! You know where she is! How dare you bring it up! How dare you…" But he seemed to choke on his own rage and he hung his head. "God, I miss her…"

Then like a breaking dam, Leah remembered.

She remembered her life in the modern world, her rebellious brother, her drunken and abusive father, and her dead mother.

"Shit…" she murdered, "My life is shit…" and with that, she leapt from her chair and ran to the door, barley missing her father's groping fingers, and made for the stairs and her room.

She slammed her door, and leant against it, sinking to the ground. But no tears would come. It was as if she had known it all along, but it had been her own subconscious shielding her from it all. She couldn't cry, she found the feelings were nothing new.

Leah got up and lay face down on her bed, whimpering, "Erik, take me back, take me back… I know why now, I know… Take me, take me…" She curled up into herself, using her position as a buffer on the real world.

"Take me back to the dream, the alternate reality, whatever it was…" she whispered. _Anything is better than this…_ she thought.

Waiting for the fold of sleep to enclose her, she screamed, long and loud; just to hear something other than her own breathing and her brother's music.

It was a long time laying in the dark for Leah before the sleep she so desired engulfed her.


	7. Dance with Him

Disclaimer: I do not write for profit, fame, to infringe copy writes, or for a shady organisation of any form.

A/N: There may be a little more Susan Kay history to Erik now…

Chapter 7

Leah woke to the gentle lapping of water at the shore of the Lair.

This time, she readjusted almost immediately to her new (or as she assumed it now was…) 19th century home.

She pushed back the silky red sheet and noted that she was wearing a clean white shift, and she knew this was not what she had fallen asleep in.

Erik closed the lid of his organ when he heard movement from the bed, and walked over with the silence of a cat.

He noted Leah's puzzled expression at her clean clothes, so said quietly,

"You came down with fever in the night, I though it best that you be in lose clothing… Rather than in your day-dress…"

Leah started at the sound of his silky voice –she wasn't sure she'd ever get use to his silent ways- and her sluggish brain took a few moments to compute his statement.

Her gaze flew to the crumpled blue garment at the side of the bed, then her mouth fell slightly open, and a look of violation entered her eyes.

"Oh Mademoiselle, you have nothing I have not seen before in the harems of Persia,"

Leah might have chuckled at his tactless response had she not felt so awkward, and as he came towards her with a caressing hand, she reached out her own hand and slapped him on the left cheek.

It filled the cave with its short sharp sound, and Erik recoiled, holding his cheek in surprise.

"Leah! It was either this or remain extremely ill!" He said with barely suppressed anger in his voice.

Leah gulped, not sure what she had just done… Had she _hit_ him?

Erik narrowed his eyes; turned, and swept from her sight, with a curt "I will be back later."

Leah sat almost perfectly still in the large bed, and felt very alone, with only the sound of dripping water and her breathing splitting the silence.

Leah had settled back into the masses of soft pillows, and must have fallen asleep, for she dreamed, of flittering glances of her Angel and home.

When she woke, she found that she was still alone in the silent cave. She picked up a roughly bound book placed on the nightstand beside the bed.

She opened its yellowed pages to a spread of a detailed sketch of the Opera Populair.

It was perfect; every statue and awning was flawless. She continued to leaf through the book slowly, savouring the wonderful drawings, which were accompanied by measurements and numbers pointing to various parts of the pictures.

Leah came to the decision that this was one of what appeared to be Erik's Architectural logs.

As she was engrossed in her reading, she missed the return of Erik to the cave, and she began to unconsciously hum a tune she had heard so may times before.

In moments Erik was at her side, grabbing her wrist, demanding violently that she tell him where or who she had gotten the tune from, the same betrayed anger of before returning to his face.

"I…I…" She stuttered, transfixed by Erik's face only inches from hers. "It was a song that came from my other world… By a famous composer… It is called 'All I As…'"

Erik's look slackened, and he strode away from her, muttering quiet things such as "Only a song, only a song… Not her, not her…" he slumped at his organ, his fingers hovering over the keys.

Leah ran a hand over her left arm, checking the bandages were still tight, and pushed aside the covers. He swung her feet to the stone floor, and stood on unsteady legs.

She tiptoed over to Erik's side quietly, eyeing the keys carefully. She had never been a Piano player, but she leant over his shoulder and tapped out the first six notes of the main tune after the scales.

Erik did not turn his head, but nodded slightly at this. "You play?" He asked.

She shook her head. "No, just that and Mary had a Little Lamb."

"What?"

"Never mind." She smirked.

"Sing for me." He said reflectively, as if the though had just dawned on him, but Leah knew that this subject must have been niggling at him since her arrival.

He played the cords of his song, giving Leah a moment to settle in to the music, then she sang the familiar words,

_In sleep he sang to me, _

_In dreams he came…_

_That voice which calls to me,_

_And speaks my name…_

_And do I dream again? For now I find, _

_The Phantom of the Opera is there inside my mind…_

Erik stoped playing, the last notes echoing into oblivion, and sat appearing to think.

Her lower register was unsteady but there, and she had unspeakable trouble with her high notes…

"I know I'm no Christine," Leah said, "Singing is not _really _my forte."

Erik flinched at the name, but looked at her earnestly. "No, I have heard worse, but I am afraid you lack a star's voice."

Leah shrugged. "Play something else, something… happy." She longed to hear Erik play, to see his fingers glide over the organ was like watching two parts of the one object. It was magic.

Erik scoffed at the word 'happy', but all the same placed his fingers on the keys again, and began to play a sweet tune.

Slowly, Leah swayed, then began to dance; sort of half Irish dancing, half ballroom.

Erik's eyes followed her around the confined space behind the piano… She had natural grace, but was clearly untrained.

He imagined her in a glorious dress, twirling on the floor at a masquerade ball, masks all around her, his own just another to add to the scenery… Somewhere even he could fit in with a beautiful partner…

He stopped playing, and Leah opened her eyes. Erik stood towering before her, his face expressionless. She was about to cower, ready for some for of outburst, but none came.

He opened his arms, inviting her in, as she had seen so many male dancers do in movies, shows, and even her own fleeting dance lesson (Something she preferred forgotten)…

She looked at him silently, then slowly and clumsily, took up his hands.

"You dance wonderfully." He said, looking directly at her. Leah felt slightly uncomfortable at such close scrutiny.

"Hmph. That's not what my dance teacher said. She kicked me out after I knocked down a whole row of dancers, and told me I had the rhythm of a stranded hippopotamus."

"She did not give you a chance. You have natural rhythm. You just need to be taught to bring it out…" He began to lead with his left foot as soon as he finished speaking, and oddly enough, Leah found she could follow him.

"But Erik, the music…"

"Hush, listen, can you not hear it?" he continued his slow dance, and despite herself, Leah listened.

Erik hummed a tune for a second, then ceased, yet Leah could still hear the soft melody.

She shook her head, then looked at the organ and the Monkey Music Box, but both were motionless.

The melody sped up, and Erik accelerated the rate of their dance. Leah tripped over his foot, and almost fell down the stairs, but Erik caught her, and straightened her to dance again.

He smiled a small smile. "Clumsy," He whispered.

Leah put her head on his shoulder, and again, he moved his feet in time to the silent music.

"Oh Leah, I could teach you… So many things…" He sighed.

Leah stopped dancing, and stood back, although her hands never left his. "Erik?" she questioned, rasing an eyebrow.

He though about what he had said, and hung his head. "I forget you do not know the monster under the mask… If you did you would fear me like the rest of the world."

"That's not what I meant… But I do not care what is under the mask! I know you, and you do _not _frighten me… I know the man _behind _the mask."

She put a hand to cup his masked cheek, "And I am falling in love with him."


	8. A Night Outing with Him

Disclaimer: Like I said, no mafia, money, rewards or any of the sort. And I don't own nothin'.

A/N: HOLIDAYS! WOOO!

Chapter 8

Out in the open once more, the twilight gently enveloping them, the pair stole silently through the rubble of the Opera House.

When Leah's bare feet touched the even cobbles of the Parisian street, Erik's hand shot up to stop her.

He whistled shortly at a passing cab, the two white horses clattering to a stop with the jingle of harness and metal.

Erik held out a steady and impossibly strong hand to help Leah in, closed the door, then barked a direction at the driver.

Leah sat wordlessly and almost unmoving in the seat beside Erik.

She clutched at black cloak for warmth in the coming darkness.

Erik had said nothing to her, except that they were going out and to take a cloak.

This time, he had not taken the black gondola across the murky waters of the lake.

He had taken her small hand in his gloved one, lifted back the heavy red and gold tasselled cover of the smashed mirror, and led her into darkness.

As her eyes grew accustom to the gloom, she could make out a long rough passage hewn straight into rock.

At the sides of the corridor were doorways, some open, some doors shut and dusty.

"Even you, Mon Ange, may not know some of the secrets of the Phantom of the Opera…" Erik said quietly, his voice having a strange ambience in the dark.

Some of the rooms that Leah could see into appeared to be just store rooms, with boxes, crates and sacks of an assortment of items, of food to ropes.

They then passed something that looked remotely like a modern bathroom, and Leah smiled.

Even The Phantom could not hold on forever.

At last, Erik stopped next to a single candelabrum, and turned a handle in the seemingly solid rock wall.

A door swung open to admit them to the dusk of Paris.

Leah smiled at the memories, pushed back the curtain of their carriage, and looked out onto the black waters of a wide river.

Erik leaned across her, and slowly closed the blind.

"It is a surprise, Angel, and after our first attempt at crossing the city…" Here Erik faltered slightly, looking at Leah's bandaged left arm, "I thought it best that we skirt the it."

Leah noticed the cab driver throwing a few furtive glances back through the little window into the carriage in Erik's direction.

He had no doubt been driver to many young lovers, and from time to time had his own private peep show.

The Phantom followed her eye line, and scowled as best he could with half his face visible, and considering the restrictiveness of the mask, Leah thought this was frighteningly well.

It seemed that for the first time, the driver saw the glowing white mask, and in a few gabbled words of French, he betrayed his fear.

He slapped the horses' backs with the reigns, and hunched in his seat.

Leah giggled, and went to put her head on Erik's shoulder, but with her neck cocked at an awkward angel, stopped.

"Leah?" Erik looked at her questioningly.

Leah shook her head dismissively, and leant on her elbow on the armrest.

How comfortable was Erik with reasonably intimate contact? And how intimate was their relationship?

Leah had openly confessed love for Erik, but did he feel the same? Their association in Leah's time would definitely be considered boyfriend/girlfriend, but in the 19th century?

They were probably just close friends.

There was a whinny from one of the horses and the coach jerked to a halt, and Erik got up.

He was bent almost double inside the carriage, and as he went to open the door, Leah also rose.

He placed a staying hand on her shoulder, and told her he would be back soon, and in no circumstance could she peek through the curtains… unless it was an emergency.

He stepped to the ground and she heard him say something to the cab driver which sounded like a berating comment.

She smiled, and waited impatiently for Erik to return. She fiddled with the lacy beaded lining of her seat, and accidentally ripped it out of the cushion.

She nervously shoved it back in as Erik (quietly) reappeared at the door.

Erik sat down and handed her a warm paper bag that smelled delicious, and whistled to the cabby.

Again, they swayed off into the night with a bump.

"Eat; it has been a long time since our last meal." Erik watched as she took a bite of the vegetable filled pastry.

It was like a pasty, and Leah was ever conscious of the scrutinising gaze.

Erik did not mean the gaze to be threatening, she knew, but with his piercing green eyes and dark brows it was hard for him not to look intense.

For a last time, the carriage bumped to a stop, and Erik got up and out.

Leah stuffed the bag her pasty had come in behind the seat, and took Erik's inviting hand.

She lifted the hem of her dress as she stepped onto the cobbles. She looked up at her surroundings, and noticed they were on a massive stone bridge.

Her intake of breath was audible, and Erik smiled.

He payed the driver as Leah rubbed one of the two white horses' heads under their harnesses, still admiring the view of the wide river.

Erik took Leah's hand and led her across the bridge to a thick stone railing as the horses jangled into the night.

"Oh, Erik… It's beautiful…" Leah sighed as she leant on the stone surface and looked out onto the river.

It extended to the horizon, as far as she could see, skirted by houses right up to the waterfront on each side.

Lamplights dotted the houses and streets along the water, and the soft sounds of a busy city met their ears.

Leah hopped up onto the balustrade to sit with her legs dangling to the water.

It was a long drop, and Leah almost fell as she settled. Erik made to grab for the back of her dress, but Leah waved him away, saying, "It's the ditz in me coming out, I'm alright."

Then she began to laugh uncontrollably. At herself, at Erik's serious look, at the world.

She choked down her laughter to blurt, "Erik, you didn't lace that pastry did you?" She smiled widely; she had never felt so happy… She felt almost… floaty she was so untroubled.

"I assure you Mademoiselle, I did not such thing! Mayhap someone else did?" He mocked a hurt look, but did not pull it off with the tilt of a smile at the corner of his lips. "Can I inquire as to the outburst?"

"Oh, Erik, it's nothing. Actually, no, I lie, it's me, it's you… I'm just happy."

Erik raised an eyebrow at her and looked out onto the water. "Welcome to the Seine, Leah. It is wonderful, is it not?"

Leah nodded in agreement, but she knew this was not all they had come to this exceptional, quiet spot. "Erik, what is it? You wanted to talk to me about something. I know it."

Erik had wanted to tell her how much he loved her, out here on the water, but his courage had failed him. He did not want to scare her off for all the world.

"There is nothing…" Erik sighed, "I just wanted to share this view with you. I have only ever seen it in darkness. That is how I know most of Paris… In darkness."

Water lapped at the stone pillars of the bridge, and Erik continued. "Leah do you remember the times you were alone, and you felt someone -or something- watching you?"

Leah nodded. "Yes, sometimes. I always imagined and told myself it was you…"

"You were right. Like the time you were at your mother's bedside in the hospital, it was about… Six months ago… She was very ill… And you looked to the ceiling, hearing something. It was me…"

Leah nodded, she remembered. Strangely enough, it did not bother her that Erik had been 'stalking' her for some time.

He had probably shared in some of her most intimate moments, yet she found she didn't care. She was almost… comforted by the fact.

"And the music in the middle of the nights? You too?" This time it was Erik's turn to nod. "My father swore I was a mental case… And for a time, I believed him."

"Leah… I'm so sorry…" Leah cut him off; telling him this was not night for miserable thoughts or laments.

She watched a shadow wend its way through the dark water, and began to hum "All Star" by Smashmouth.

Erik caught the jarring melody, and had to ask. "Leah what was that?"

Leah proceeded to sing him the chorus (badly) and explain it was a pop tune from her time.

Erik then thought for a moment, and he belted out the chorus she had just reiterated to him in full operatic glory.

Leah laughed again; it was the funniest thing she had ever heard.

"Erik, I…" Leah never finished her sentence.

She felt Erik trail his slender fingers down her arm, leaving her skin tingling and her brain humming.

Was this his first move? Leah swirled on the balustrade so she was facing Erik, and she looked up at him with honest love in her eyes.

She reached up and drew his masked face close to hers, and Erik did not protest.

Moving gently, slowly, she raised a hand to remove his mask, but Erik pulled away.

Leah sighed, and placed a light but tender kiss on his forehead. Her lips met half ice-cold mask, half warm skin.

She felt Erik quiver under her lips, and she pulled away slowly to look him in the eye.

She noticed Erik's mouth slightly open, and he would not meet her gaze.

The last woman that had kissed him… Like Leah had done… Was Christine… Erik looked at the shining cobbles of the street and pushed the thoughts away.

"I am not scared of what is under the mask." Leah stated simply. "I would love you just the same."

Erik sighed, and leaned in to kiss her. It was a fervent kiss, and Leah could taste her Angel. Her body burned in response, and as their lips were locked, she reached up to the mask, and slowly pulled it away.

Erik had been expecting this, and withdrew from the embrace, awaiting the scream of horror, or the expression of shock.

Leah looked upon the face of the Erik she had seen so many times on the big screen, and broke into a smile, yet the emotion of the night overwhelmed her and she had to look away.

"See?" Erik cried, rasing his voice. "This is the face that haunted the Opera and scared the Ballet Rats!" Erik's intense eyes blazed, his 'deformity'; in truth just welted and bumpy skin.

His drooped eyelid made him look sad, but not frightening.

"No Erik, no… I just… It's just… Tonight." She pulled him close, kissing his burned-looking skin, and kissed it, all over, fluttering over it with her eyelashes.

Erik shuddered at her touch, and fought down stronger response his body was giving him.

"Have I convinced you?" She asked, smiling her temptresses smile, still excruciatingly close to him.

"Yes… I believe you have." Erik smiled lopsidedly at her, and replaced his mask gently. "Shall we?" He asked, offering Leah his arm.

Leah giggled and took it, leaning into him and admiring the full moon through the lacy clouds.

Half way back to the Opera House, (skirting the marketplace) They climbed into another cab, and got out a few streets before the Opera, for what man in his right mind would take his date to a burn out building?

They walked the last few blocks in almost silence, it seemed everyone had finally gone to bed, and Erik's footsteps made no sound.

If Leah had not been super-conscious of the arm through her own, she could have sworn she was walking alone.

When at last the one remanning wall of the Opera was in view., Leah at last felt lethargy grow inside her. It had been a long and eventful night.

Wandering through the empty streets, suddenly cries of passion from a second level window broke the quiet chirruping of crickets.

The woman was expressing her pleasure loudly, and Erik blushed. He had clearly never been to a High School… Leah rolled her eyes remembering the Jock's Locker Rooms off of the gym…

As she stumbled around the last corner, by this time half-carried by Erik, She could hear voices. She passed them off as early-morning workers, but Erik, ever the alert one, knew better.

He pulled her against himself, hastily hid in a dark corner, and draped his cape over her head. In the dark corner of a café front, they were invisible.

"_Erik!_" Leah exclaimed in a strained whisper, choking on the light fabric.

He hushed her and listened to the hurried conversation of the men that were apparently crunching through the rubble of the Opera House.

The French to her was muffled, but Erik quickly translated the important parts of the discussion.

"They are Government workers… One is an Architect and Designer… The other appears to be… An assistant to the Prime Minister?" He said this with a note of incredulity in his voice.

In answer to her unasked question he elaborated, "I have only ever hear of two of those people… They work on only the most important projects…"

He waited again, with Leah gasping for breath under his black cape. "The council want to begin a new project…" He stopped here suddenly, and emitted a strangled sort of sound, "The say the skeleton of the Opera House has stood untouched for long enough as a monument to those who died in the fire… They say it would be a crime to waste such prime real-estate in such a prestigious area of Paris. It appears they want to gut the building, including the five levels of cellar, and build an entirely new entertainment centre… Including a Theatre for Operatic Performances… Among other things…"

"Urg!" Leah mumbled, clawing at Erik's cape for air. He let her head into the night, and she gulped in its gloomy coolness, before she was once again submerged into darkness.

"Work will start soon… The project will be kept a secret from the whole of Paris…" At this Erik scoffed. "They wish to keep a project of this size a secret? It will be secret for no longer than four weeks with the gossip in Paris…"

Leah heard more garbled French, this time from a different mouth.

"The Architect says he has the design ready… A much better one than the enterprise of Charles Garnier, he says. He says work can begin immediately or as soon as the Minister can give him clearance…"

Silence reigned for a few moments, as Leah assumed the men were shaking hands and going their separate ways.

Then Erik flattened himself even more against the stonework of the shop front, squashing Leah flat as one of the men walked past.

She saw a faint glow as the man lit up a cigar, and it faded into the dim distance of the street.

Erik's pressure let up, and Leah could breath as he removed his cape from her head.

He had a numb expression on his face as he watched the site of the Paris Opera with dismayed disbelief.

"Erik? Are you alright?" She asked timidly in the next few still seconds.

"They want to rebuild… And ruin my home…" He said quietly.

"But you can make a new home! In the new cellars of the new Opera!"

"It is an 'Entertainment Centre', The Assistant expressly emphasized that." He took a deep breath, "And there will be no cellars… It has been requested by an anonymous Aristocrat that there be no cellars…"

"Three guesses who it was…" Leah murmured.

"It was stated they were a 'Death Trap' and that they served no purpose…"

"My God… I'm so sorry…" Leah said, "How long do you have?"

"At the best a week…" Erik began to stride purposefully toward the concealed trapdoor, and on his way, picked up a large piece of debris, and threw it forcefully at the nearest window.

The glass shattered with a loud tinkle, Erik clearly fuming.

He opened the trapdoor, and let Leah in, climbing into the almost-darkness after her.

A/N: Oooo! Will Erik and Leah be able to save the Opera House? Tune in next time to find out! In the mean time, review my Minions! Review! .:Evil laugh:.


	9. The Haunting Begins

Disclaimer: I own nothing. As yet…

A/N: Thankyou to all my wonderful reviewers! It is your encouragement and enthusiasm that makes my day and helps me continue the story! And to all you lurkers… Review!

Another thing. I realised I got my dates all wrong… In the first chapter, it says all this is set in 1911, but that would make the Phantom waaaay too old for all this jazz, so I'll edit, and it's now set in about 1899.

Chapter 9

Leah moaned in her sleep, inhaled deeply, and sat up.

She was surrounded by the red silk of the golden Swan bed; Erik lay sprawled next to her.

Leah started at this, and wondered how long she had lain asleep in the crook of his arm.

She looked around, and saw the Architectural Journal on the Opera House that she had been reading.

It was on the floor next to the bed, open on the page on the cellars she had been browsing over.

Erik had been furious at the Assistant's news, and had raged around the Lair for hours.

He had played the most jolting parts of Don Juan, he burnt old scores, threw candelabra in the lake, and yelled at no one in particular.

Leah had pledged to him through his anger that she would help him all she could, and she had taken up the Journal to get to know the cellars better.

After a while, Erik had collapsed in the bed, exhausted and breathing heavily.

It now occurred to Leah that this was the first time she had ever seen Erik sleep.

It was always he that watched her sleep. She looked upon his peaceful face, and noted that in slumber, all Erik's anger and worry seemed to disappear.

He looked like the handsome young Phantom he may have been before the affair with the Soprano… He looked strong and fierce, frightening and nimble.

She trailed a finger down his smooth cheek, and his eyes flickered.

For a moment he just laid staring up at the half-dressed girl in front of him, super-conscious of her smile and sympathetic expression.

Then he took her in his arm and held her against his chest.

Leah rested her head on his broad torso; she could hear his heart beat in a regular rhythm beneath his taunt skin. It had been a long time since she had been this close to anyone.

"What are we going to do Erik?" She murmured, playing with the ruffle on his white shirt.

"We will save the Opera, and not even Hell itself will stop us."

"But… How? You heard them… A week is not enough time..."

Erik looked pensive, then a mischievous smile began to creep across his features. "For a Ghost, it is an eternity…" He said mysteriously.

"I don't know whether to be scared or excited at that…" Leah said slowly, watching Erik's eyes as he calculated.

"Oh, Leah… You will love this…" He smirked, sitting up slowly.

"Are you sure?" Leah grumbled to Erik as she adjusted the loose nightgown she wore. It was long and delicately flowing, and gave her a very spectral appearance.

"I mean, I don't want to steal your thunder with the Phantom thing and all…" She said as she gazed out from under the trapdoor on the overcast Parisian morning.

The sky was steel grey, and a fine rain was falling in the dim light. She threw a quick glance at Erik who sat unmoving next to her.

"I am sure. The Architect said he would be back with the Head Builder the next morning… And these working class Frenchmen are very superstitious…" Erik said slowly as he scanned the masses of rubble with his keen eyes. "Oh! I almost forgot." Erik pulled an envelope out from under the folds of his cape, and handed it to her.

It was his signature yellowing parchment letter, signed in red in elongated, curling handwriting, and sealed with a bright crimson death's head.

Leah smiled, and tucked the letter into her bodice.

"This better work…" Leah murmured as Erik tensed beside her.

"Here they come!" He whispered urgently, yet Leah had heard nothing. "Now, remember what we agreed on… Remember the route…And don't linger too long in direct light… And…"

"Erik? I get it…" Leah took a deep breath. They had been over the plan many times. She was to move as fluidly as possible, but she was not to loiter where the men could see her too long.

She had the element of surprise, and wore ghostly stage make-up, but Erik was sure that one of the men would come to their senses and see her.

"Good luck!" Erik whispered as she climbed out onto the piles of rocks and weeds.

Leah tip-toed around huge chunks of masonry, barley breathing, and peered slowly out from behind a fallen pillar.

The Architect and the Builder were standing in a clear space, staring at the one remaining wall of the opera, and talking in hushed voices.

It was a freezing dawn, and the men were in long coats and scarves, their velvet-covered backs to her.

Leah heard Erik grumble behind her, somewhere to the right, and she shivered.

There was the sound of something heavy hitting the ground, and a brick rolled to a stop beside her.

Leah smiled, _patience is a virtue, Erik, _she thought to her edgy Phantom.

The brick had done its duty, and both men turned.

As they did, a strong wind blew up, sending Leah's matted hair flying, and the delicate nightgown billowing out behind her.

The men's eyes widened in fright, and Leah tried her best to keep her face expressionless, and her eyes empty.

She slowly extended a powder-paled arm, making sure her audience saw the letter.

Then she dropped the envelope, watching them follow its decent with horror-struck expressions and frozen bodies.

Leah let out a moan that the wind distorted pleasingly, and departed, turning and walking gracefully from the scene.

Once she was sure the men could no longer see her, she hurried to the trapdoor where she could see Erik's bright eyes peering from beneath the old wood.

She scrambled down the steps to sit beside him, and he draped his cape over her shoulders.

Leah rubbed her upper arms vigorously, trying unsuccessfully to warm herself.

"Geez, it's ICY out there…" She exclaimed. Erik moved closer to Leah, gathering her in his arms, but she did not miss the smile that played on his partially-covered lips.

"You did exceedingly well, Leah, and I thank you." He placed a gentle kiss on the top of her head, and she melted in his embrace. "Are you sure they did not follow you?"

Leah composed herself a little, and shook her head, "No, I'm sure. The Builder's jaw was on the ground, and the Architect's knees were knocking so loudly I could hear them… They will not follow."

Erik barked out a laugh, and the yells of the frightened workmen could be heard disappearing down a street in a clatter of hooves.

"And the letter?" He asked.

"Oh, they saw that too, neither of them took their eyes off of me the whole time I was out there…" Leah rested her head in the crook of his neck, and she felt his quick pulse against her cheek.

Erik smiled again, and raised his chin, as if addressing an unseen crowd.

"Monsieur and Mademoiselles, the Opera Ghost is back."


	10. He Remains Gentlemen, OG

Disclaimer: I really still have to do these? Alright… I don't own anything, except Leah (yay!).

A/N: Hmmm… Thankyou for your reviews, as always, and please review!

Chapter 10

Two men burst through the doors of a local tavern, shattering the peace within.

Fear and horror was clearly plastered all over their faces, both of their bodies shook, but even though it was freezing outside the walls of the pub, not from the cold.

The interior of the tavern was a quiet warm haven, very empty if one considered the time of morning.

Mahogany tables and chairs were strewn about the room hap-hazardly, and most seats were uninhabited. It smelt of cooked bacon and cigar smoke inside, a stark contrast to the fresh if slightly cutting wind outdoors.

There was a pair of exotic sailors sitting at a central table, one of them chatting to a pretty blonde barmaid, an old man sitting quietly at the bar, and a young woman eating her breakfast ravenously in a booth by a window.

The fire flickered violently in the hearth as the wind from outside blasted through the still-open door, and the Maid rushed quickly over to shield it, her skirts swishing loudly in the silence.

The Bartender whirled around, expecting to see robbers or the Police, but his breath caught when he saw the dishevelled and obviously terrified grown men.

"My God! What has happened to you men?" He asked breathlessly.

The Architect collapsed into a seat and clutched his chest, while the Builder sat down beside him, his shaking hands making the sign of the cross.

The bartender brought them both steaming mugs of something, and the Builder took a long draught, his eyes unfocused.

"Renyer and I were both at the old Paris Opera, on a commission from the Prime Minister…" The Architect gasped between mouthfuls.

At this the young woman raised her head a little, and stared intently at the two men. She picked up her fallen knife and fork, and began to slowly eat again.

"I know you!" The Bartender said, a light seeming to come on behind his eyes, "You're the Prime Minister's Architect! And you're…" he trailed off, looking at the Builder.

"He… He's the Builder for the project," The Architect choked around another mouthful of the steaming concoction. The old man at the bar finally turned in his seat and looked at the new intruders, nodding as he too recognised them.

The Builder's shivers were finally subsiding, and his colour was returning, he clutched his mug tight, and was mumbling, "Never again, never again…"

"We, we saw a ghost! At the Opera!" The Architect exclaimed, earning scoffs from the sailors, and the barmaid now perched on the handsome sailor's lap giggled. "I swear to the Lord above that we did!"

"You really believe you saw a ghost?" The old man asked, "Did he wear a mask and dress in black formal ware?"

The Architect looked incredulously at the old man, "He? He? This apparition was as feminine as a length of the finest lace!" He exclaimed. "She gazed at me with her empty, wanton eyes and tried to coax us back to the land of the dead with her!" He finished with a flourish.

The barmaid gasped softly and buried herself into the sailor's chest, much to the man's delight.

The old man at the bar nodded and seemed to ponder this, and he shifted slightly in his seat. He sighed and raised a sceptical eyebrow.

"You do not believe my words Monsieur?" The Architect asked with his eyes wild and his clothes looking even more tousled in the warm glow of the fire in the grate. "Why don't I drag you down to that wretched site and leave you to the ghost herself?" At the mention of the ghost, the Builder, Reyner, who was staring into his mug, looked into the flickering fire, fear still present in his eyes.

"How… What else did she do?" The Bartender prompted, interrupting the unconvinced musings of the old man. He leaned forward, all of his attention on the pair.

"She wore a provocative shift that flowed with her black magic, and she moaned like a dying banshee! And… And…" He stopped, thinking, "She dropped something…"

Reyner moaned quietly, and whispered the Architect's name, "L'Enfer…" as he pulled out the yellowed envelope, seemingly just realising he still had it.

The Architect looked at the envelope like it was a contagious disease, but took it from the whitened hand.

"Yes, this is what she dropped…" L'Enfer said slowly.

Every head in the room craned to see this small piece of parchment.

"Well, open it," The Bartender said in a tense voice, seemingly the only person in the room still able to speak.

The Architect looked at the red flowing handwriting on the envelope. It was addressed to 'Monsieur L'Architect'.

He turned it over slowly in his hands, and stared at the leering red skull for a moment before breaking the seal in disgust.

He pulled out one sheet of yellowed parchment filled with the same graceful handwriting that the letter was addressed with.

"Read it," The Bartender said, his voice barley audible in the hush.

The Architect gulped, and read:

"'_Dear Monsieur L'Architect, _

_Fondest Greetings to you all, a few instructions just before construction starts:_

_The Opera Ghost still walks these halls, and still haunts these stones. Really, he is a peaceful creature, and if left alone, is willing to live a harmonious life with those above. Yet you wish to destroy what remains of his Opera, even when he has done nothing to you. The Ghost finds this exceedingly offensive. _

_You wish to build a new Opera, and gut out the cellars, even though they remain in-tact, and are a danger to no one who wishes the Opera Ghost no harm._

_He agrees with building a new Opera House, the streets of dear old Paris have been without the ring of Concertos and the squawk of sopranos for too long. But why not leave the cellars? The Ghost strongly advises that you do._

_If these requests are not met, a disaster beyond your imagination will occur…_

_I remain, Gentlemen, your obedient Servant,_

_O.G._'"

For a few moments, silence reigned in the cosy tavern, and all that could be heard was the creak of the sign outside above the door, and the wind in the shutters.

The Architect looked up, his eyes even wider than before. "The… The ghost survived the fire," He gulped nervously.

"Or the Ghost's ghost did," whispered the Bartender.

Reyner drained his mug, swallowed slowly, and uttered his first intelligible sentence since entering the tavern. "The Opera Ghost is back."

All in the tavern nodded solemnly, for who could doubt the scared men and the calm yet strangely menacing note?

Through all this, a silent figure in a dark hooded cape had sat in a corner, nursing a beer, listening intently.

At last he sighed and removed his hood.


	11. A Shower?

Disclaimer: I don't own PotO. But Leah is MIIIINNE! MOO HA HA.

Warnings: Arrr, me hearties', there be 'action' ahead.

A/N: Please review all. I like reviews, reviews are good!

(Random Music In The Background: American woman, I said get away. American woman, listen when I say… :D)

Chapter 11

Erik returned to the Lair the next morning, still with the same self-satisfied grin on his face from the day before.

Leah looked up from more of the Architectural Logs she was reading on the swan bed as he plopped a large ring of keys on a small mahogany desk by his piano.

"Good haul?" She smirked.

"You people of the Modern World do talk very strangely, Leah," He said without looking up at her, as he began to unpack the brown paper bag he had carried in with his keys.

"Dude, you'd busta vein if ya heard what mah homie-mofo playa's were spinnin' back in the 'hood," She giggled quietly, getting off the bed and stretching her long legs.

Erik sighed and gave a small smile, sorting through the assortment of parchment and envelopes he had bought from an inconspicuous street-corner dealer, who did not ask when he ordered two bottles of only red ink. She was strange yet wonderful.

"So what did you buy?" Leah asked, standing on tip-toe, trying to peer over Erik's impossibly high shoulder at his newly-acquired goods.

"Arsenic and Torture Machines," Erik said simply, looking at Leah out of the corner of his eye with a completely straight face.

He laughed long and loud when he saw the inquisitive smile drop almost instantaneously from Leah's lips. She believed him wholly and truly, with no doubt in her open features.

As he laughed though, Leah could not help revel in the sonorous tone of his rich voice, and she sighed in relief as she realised his joke.

"Pleasing to know you believe me unquestioningly Leah, but what you think I am capable of is more than a little worrying," He chuckled.

She flicked a hand at his arm playfully, and stole one of the long quills from his desk, wandering among Erik's collection of things from around the world.

Stroking the soft plumage of the feather absently, gazing in wonder at the assortment of nick-knacks on the shelves and low tables, she voiced her wonderings.

"What will we do next? With the haunting, I mean."

"Oh, we have done enough for a time, I think," Erik said happily as he slumped into a soft armchair. He tossed her a newspaper, and Leah caught it deftly.

She unfolded that day's copy of the _Epoque_, and looked at the headline, '_El Fantasma de L'Opera Retour!'._

"Apparently I have returned!" Erik said with his nose resting on his church-steepled fingers, with the air of delight unsuccessfully veiled in his voice.

Leah smiled too, running her eyes through the article, although her French was terrible. She managed to pick out what seemed to be the recount by two workers of a 'Female Ghost'. There was a black and white picture of the Opera House as it was before the fire, and another smaller picture of the ruins.

"Wonderful!" She cried, doing a small twirl with the paper in her hands. "So now we just… Wait?" She asked.

"We will keep up appearances, and I must be sighted eventually, or my public will begin to miss me!" He said, bowing again to his imaginary audience. "And of course, letters must go to anyone who visits the Phantom's home regarding redevelopment."

"Of course!" Leah echoed with a giggle.

She sighed, smiling, still hardly able to comprehend the fact she was with the _Phantom_, in his _Lair_.

Suddenly a wave of homesickness hit her, not so much homesickness as schoolsickness.

She missed her few friends, and especially Mrs. Hensby and Mr. Russel, her History and English teachers, respectively.

Her friends had always teased her about having a 'thing' for Mr. Russel, their middle-aged English teacher, and sometimes Leah wondered if it was a 'thing', or just their mutual love for almost all the same things.

Mr. Russel was a die-hard Phantom fan also, and he lived for books. His favourite were the soaring Gothic romances like Phantom, but he also liked the darkness and intensity of such stories.

Some of his students called him 'gay' for his choices in reading material (a sad truth in most all-girl colleges, Leah found).

Leah smiled reminiscently, thinking of all the times she had stayed long after class chatting to Mr. Russel about her most recently obtained book, or about the finer things in 'Phantom'. The chats which her friends twisted only half-jokingly into secret meetings, suspicious rendezvous.

"Leah? You look to be dwelling on a lost lifestyle. Talk to Erik," The masked man in the chair said, all the time studying her closely.

Leah's head snapped up, and her far-away eyes came back to the Lair, marvelling at Erik's uncanny ability to either sense her feelings or read her mind. "No, I am alright, just remembering good old friends," Leah sighed. "What I really need is a sho-"

Erik raised his finger in an 'Ah ha!' sort of way, cutting her off, "A shower, Mademoiselle?"

"Yes, they're sort of a way-" Leah began to explain, but again Erik cut her off.

"Follow me, please."

He got up from his chair, and for only the second time in under a week, led her into the dark corridor behind the smashed mirror.

Again they passed the various rooms, and stopped at what Leah had guessed at to be a bathroom.

It turned out she was right, and Erik held the door open for her to see inside.

The bathroom was tiled all in white, and this made it look impeccably clean. There was a relatively modern toilet, a white porcelain basin, and in a corner of the room, set in a small area of floor a little lower than the rest… A shower.

In truth, it was a pipe coming from the ceiling of the room with no shower-head, but Leah could have squealed for joy.

"Does it… Is there hot water?" Leah asked wondrously, still staring at the shower.

Erik walked into the bathroom and flicked on a gas fire under a large tub of water. "Sadly, no, but this should be enough warm water. You should find everything you need there," Erik motioned towards a counter with a mirror above it with an elegant hand.

He smiled and nodded to her, backing out of the room and closing the door.

The water began to steam, and Leah went to remove her dirty blue dress, and for a moment faltered at the thought of Erik and his secret chambers and hidden vantage points. She shrugged, remembering his removal of her dress in her fever and continued to undo the strings on the back of the dress.

She turned on the water, and picked out various soaps and what appeared to be shampoos from the counter, struggling a little with the French on the bottles.

Slowly she eased her way under the fast stream of water, finding it not as cold as she thought it might be.

She breathed deep under the water, feeling the dirt and grime of the last few days run in rivulets from her, revealing the olive skin beneath.

Leah was clean! And warm, and clean, and she smelt relatively normal. Given, she smelt a little fruitier than normal, but that was to be expected with the exotic assortment of soaps and gels that Erik had given her.

She had found a fluffy towel, blood red and huge, more of a sheet that a towel. She dried her hair and sat near the water-heater for a little, waiting for her thick tresses to dry.

Finding a light white blouse and flowing white skirt hanging on a rail, she donned these and cleaned up the room a little. She had been told she was terrible for messing up bathrooms.

She wiped the mirror and threw the towel and her dress into the linen wash basket, leaving the door open to let the steam escape, she re-entered the Lair.

Erik looked up from her forgotten Architectural books, and his face lit up in a smile.

It took Leah a moment to locate her formally-clad (as always) host in amongst all his antique possessions, he blended so well.

Leah then understood Erik's plight. There was no way he would fit in with her changing world; changes that were beginning now in this turn-of-the-century France.

Even his world was different and shifting, and he was not one to fade into the background, disappear from the limelight, as others had done when their era passed.

He was almost a relic of the past living as he did now, hidden and presumed dead; a memory of earlier opulence and glory.

He had waited, knowing this himself, for the time to make his return; Leah's arrival had been just the thing he had needed to spur him into action.

Erik rose and glided towards her with the elegance he had retained all these years, and held her close to him, burying his masked face in her hair.

"You smell wonderful," He said, his voice a little muffled.

He stopped for a second, as if thinking, and gave a chuckle. "You have used the rose body-scrub as shampoo, Angel."

Here he stepped back and took her hand, bringing this to his nose to smell, "And you have used the lavender shampoo as body-scrub."

"I'll say it again; My French is sh…ocking." She giggled, finding herself caught up again in his blazing eyes.

She felt her cheeks flush slowly, as Erik's arms snaked around her back, his un-gloved hands cold against her warmed skin. Leah murmured something incoherent as her vision swam a little, and she felt her feet moving of their own accord.

They were close together, kneeling on the swan bed, Leah could feel and hear Erik's ragged and laboured breathing. Suddenly and without warning he claimed her lips.

She was his; in body and in soul. Not a thought crossed her mind except returning the fiery kiss with all her heart. She grasped his white shirt as his kisses traced a line down her neck, and pulled him closer still, her chest heaving with rapid breath.

He pulled away, his kisses and body gone, and Leah moaned in response, bereft of the only thing she wanted at that moment, _him_…

Then his hands were back, raising her arms and removing the clean white blouse, lifting it over her head, and she shivered in the sudden cold.

Their hips melded, and Leah could feel him grow hard against her thigh, his warmth and readiness making her tremble all the more.

Before she knew it, the insides of her thighs were damp with her excitement, and she flushed, pressing against him.

She felt an ache deep inside that she had never felt before; she ached for him and what he could bring. This her body said, knowing exactly what to do, yet she found her brain didn't know the first thing.

Leah opened her eyes, to find Erik staring in wonder at her small black bra (which she had refused to give up for a corset). "The back…" She panted, "The back."

Erik asked no questions, but ran his strong hands over her uncovered back, looking for anything that would remove the thing that kept her from him. He stopped, his hands lingering around her shoulders, feeling ridges and blotches on her skin, and he turned her a little.

He found scars and fading bruises, congealed gashes adorning her tanned skin and he swallowed, "What… Who?" He whispered.

"My father, it does not matter…" She breathed, and pushed harder against him, fiddling with the button on his open shirt, pulling it over his shoulders, but not removing it fully. She ran her own hands down his scared back, taking in every mark, every bump, and every straining muscle under the pale skin.

Now Erik was groaning, the want and passion finally upon him, and as Leah looked into his eyes, only inches from her own, she saw a different man. This time she kissed him, feeling his tongue, tasting her Angel.

He pushed her down gently and began to struggle with his pants, putting a knee between her legs, spreading them slowly, finding no resistance. Never once did he falter from her kiss. He lifted her skirt above her hips, all with the precision and grace of experience, yet she knew him to be chaste. "The mask… Please…" She whispered into his ear, sending a deep sigh through his whole body.

Something in her simple request seemed to bring him back to earth; he groaned in response, and Leah felt a wave of restraint pass through him. He was fighting his urge to take her right there, right then.

Erik pulled away from her kiss and rolled away from her, and lay panting on his back, his fervour fading. "Rape," He gasped, still panting, turning his still-masked face towards her, his eyes pleading, "It would be rape…"

He moved into a sitting position on the edge of the bed, struggling as if it was an effort.

"No!" Leah cried, and crawled on her knees towards him, cupping his face in her hands, "Not rape… I wish it to be so! I want to be yours," Leah said with tears in her eyes.

"If you were to return… Your father… Our age… In your time our coupling would be frowned upon. He could claim… rape."

Then Leah understood that he meant Statutory Rape, and her father was likely to claim this. Even if he could not find the culprit, he would find one.

_Mr. Russel…_ The thought passed through Leah's mind before she could stop it. He would blame Mr. Russel; he already believed their relationship to be something more than teacher-student.

"But I will not go back! I will stay with you always!" Leah cried for what might happen to her and her friend, and the loss of what may have happened between her and Erik. She was torn between the two extremes: dread and desire.

"Please," She whispered, kissing him full on the lips, Erik returning the kiss half-heartedly. He broke from her, and murmured something in quiet French.

Leah didn't catch the words, (she doubted if she would have understood them anyway) but took delight from the way the syllables and vowels rolled from his tongue.

She went to straddle his lap, hoping to rouse the feelings of moments ago, but it was not to be.

Now Erik's fit of passion had passed, and it was once again the handsome musical genius she saw when she looked in his eyes, he moved to sit up, and took her hand.

"You have your life in the Modern World, Leah; I can not make you give that up. You have your entire life ahead of you…"

"That I want to spend with _you_," Leah said in return. "I will give it up, there is nothing but… abuse for me there now. My father will never forgive me for disappearing for a week, longer maybe. He would kill me, I can't go back."

Erik seemed to understand, but did not approach her again. He handed her the white blouse, and rose, moving to his piano slowly. "I love you Leah, make no mistake, but I cannot take your innocence… Not yet."

He took up one of the hundreds of red roses that littered his Organ-top, and handed it tenderly to Leah.

"Take this," He said, "As my promise. I am yours, and you are mine."

She smelt the rose, and looked up at him, his dark brows creased in sincerity, his lips set in a fine line.

"Even if we are separated by one hundred and seven years?"

"My promise transcends time. It is forever. Even if the unreliable Mistress Time takes you back to your century, I will be waiting."

Leah could have sobbed, but she held back the strangled cry that threatened to escape. Why couldn't her date for the Social have been more like Erik?

She drew her blouse more tightly around her, and looked up at the damp ceiling of the Lair. She had given up all the luxuries of the Modern World for this, a shadowy cave, yet she could not have felt more content. This was not her time, no, but she felt more at home here than she ever had in her age.

As Leah did up the last button on her blouse, Erik's head snapped up, and he looked intently at the roof of the Lair.

"Is there someone up there?" She whispered, slowly becoming accustomed to Erik's sharp and fast movements.

Erik said nothing, but no more than ten seconds later, Leah heard what her perceptive Angel had caught first; the soft crunch of shoes on gravel and rubble.

They looked at each other noiselessly, and broke into smiles simultaneously.


	12. A Feeling of Foreboding

Disclaimer: POTO belongs to Lloyd Webber, Leroux and Kay, and a bunch of other people, so don't sue me.

A/N: I've been swamped with schoolwork lately, hence the infrequent updates, but hang in there, fans! I'll be back with another update soon!

A/N2: I dedicate Kent to marauder16.

Chapter 12

A dark hooded figure trudged slowly through the rubble of the ruined Opera House, avoiding puddles of mud and rocks with an air of distaste.

The drizzle of fine rain that was falling left the figure's cloak speckled with sparkling droplets caught in the coarse wool.

A weak shaft of sunlight slanted through the crumbling rafters, catching the figures' tousled blond hair. It paused, and a hand appeared beneath the dark material of the black sleeves, and pushed back the hood.

A man was revealed, but on closer inspection, he looked more like a young boy. In actual fact, he was twenty-eight, but retained his boyish features. His hair was blond, flecked with a sandy brown colour, and his eyes were almost inhumanely blue.

His features were fine; he had a fine nose, pouting lips and thin brows. He wasn't especially tall or muscular, but he exuded a physical strength one couldn't explain.

When he walked the streets of Paris, many young Mademoiselles peered at him from behind fans and beneath parasols, so figuring he was fairly attractive, he had a healthy ego.

Here though, in the shadows of large chunks of masonry, there were no pretty maidens to stare at him and giggle girlishly; here he was completely alone. Or so most would think.

This man knew of the Opera Ghost. He knew about him and his ways. Most importantly he knew the story of the Ghost and the little Chorus Girl-cum-Prima Donna.

In the Populaire's heyday, the man had been an usher. Only fifteen at the time, he had worked for pittance and loved his work. The dazzling beauty of the Operas and Ballets staged there had amazed him and captured his imagination.

The Masquerades at the Opera Populaire could only be described as spectacular, when the crème-de-la-crème of Parisian society had come to the Balls for a night of reckless, anonymous fun.

Many times he had longed to be out there, with a mask and a smart suit, twirling and dancing with the sweeping music and pretty girls.

He even remembered the fateful New Years Eve Ball that the Phantom had crashed in his impressive Red Death costume.

After that particular incident, the 'Phantom' drew his attention, and held it. As the Opera House burned to the ground, the boy had found Madame Giry and followed her home that night, as he had no place else to go. He ate and slept in the Opera, too poor to buy lodgings in a hostel or hotel.

In the early hours of the morning, following many strong wines on Madam Giry's behalf, she told him all. The whole story, to the night they sat amidst.

He had vowed to destroy the man who had brought down the Opera House, the place he had made his home and the place he had lived for much of his life. He had loved the place like a sibling, and it was gone, never to return the same as it once was. In the fire he had lost many friends and acquaintances, and what kind of man kidnapped a young girl twice?

He _deserved_ to die.

Now he returned to France from his homeland England, an established stage actor. He had been gone for the better part of twelve years, working his way up in the dirty streets of London from lowly sweeper-boy in a theatre to its star actor.

Walking the halls he had walked as a boy brought back eerie and happy memories, as well as mixed feelings.

Given, the walls were mostly non-existent, the floors crumbled, but he still recalled every turn in the passages, every flight of stairs, every door.

He flicked his golden hair from his eyes, and ran a hand down one of the few remaining door-frames remembering the room it had lead to.

Beyond it had been an abandoned dormitory, the place he had smoked his first stolen cigar with the other young boys of the Opera, and the place he had had his first encounter with a girl.

He smiled as he recalled the dim light, the tossing sheets, and later, the jeers and wolf-whistles of the other boys.

He continued down the corridor, trailing gloved hands over the walls and banisters, touching wall-mounted candelabras (the parts of them that remained, at least) and cracked picture frames.

Coming out into an expanse of empty space, he recalled this was once the back-stage dressing room corridor.

A malicious smile crept slowly across his set lips.

"Erik- wait!" Leah cried haltingly as she followed him out of the black and silver gondola, hauling her white skirt along behind her, huffing angrily as it got caught on the embellishments on the bow of the small boat.

Erik rushed on ahead of her, moving silently and quickly with his ears still pricked to the roof of the underground passage. Clearly, he could still hear whoever or whatever was up there.

Leah heard a loud _rrrrrrrip _as she gave the skirt one last tug. She stood stock-still, eyes wide, waiting for the hurrying figure ahead of her to turn and rebuke her for the damage, and to lecture her on being more lady-like.

No such reprimand came, Leah giving a slight relief-sigh and at the same time realising that whatever was wrong must be serious to Erik.

She hoisted the hem up, and ran as best she could, skipping over small stones in her bare feet.

As Leah reached the last turn of the passage, she was just in time to notice the whip of black material around the bend, leaving the candle-flames flickering.

"_Erik_," She hissed, peering into the gloom below the trap door, seeing nothing.

"Here… I am here." He whispered back, and she saw a hand extended from the step just below the door.

She went and sat beside him, she could just see the glow of his white mask in the light shafting down from the gaps in the mouldering wood of the trapdoor.

"Who's up there?" She squeaked.

Erik unhooked the door's latch, and lifted it slightly, looking out into the drizzly day furtively.

He let the door close silently again, without a word, and beneath his cravat she saw his throat bob as he swallowed.

"It's a man." He murmured.

Leah rubbed her hands together in mock enthusiasm, "Are you gonna go crack him open a nice can of Opera Ghost?"

"I… I will." Erik knew the man's face, he was sure of it, and he could read in his stance that he was confident about himself. Something about the situation and the man's air made Erik's skin crawl with wrong.

Leah registered this reluctance and unwillingness in the Phantom, so different to his enthusiasm of mere hours ago.

"What is it?" She asked uncertainly.

Erik paused, thinking, before seeming to come to a decision. "Nothing. Nothing is wrong. Just promise me something," He said.

Leah nodded wordlessly.

"Promise me whatever happens out there, you will not come out." He placed a black-shrouded hand over hers.

"Sure, I'll let you have your moment." Leah said, examining his half covered-face closely.

"Thankyou," He murmured, and leant in for a kiss.

Leah's lips met half warm skin half cold mask, and she let her eyes slide closed.

He pulled away at last, and smiled at her through the darkness.

"Go get 'em tiger," She whispered to him, grinning. Erik's brow furrowed, but he passed it off a just another modern quirk.

He lifted the trap-door and eased his graceful way out. It was odd how Erik could make even the most menial and dirty gestures and actions seem so beautiful.

At the last moment, as he still held the door in his hand, Erik turned with the parody of a severe look on his face. His eyes twinkled playfully, "And Leah, I do not know _how_ many times I've told you, but please be more careful with your attire." His eyes flickered to the rip in her skirt which the weak daylight had illuminated.

Erik let the door fall, and it clunked closed with a muffled thump.

Leah's stomach turned over at the peculiar finality of the moment, and sent out a silent prayer to follow Erik into the twilight.

The man came to a halt at a chipped marble column, reading the faded French script on a sign with trouble.

"Prima… Donna." The man looked to the left, noticing slight movement among the piles of rubble, slight but noticeable.

He came out from behind the column, standing in full view of the ruined room.

Psyching himself up to call out to 'The Ghost', the man took a deep breath, but the breath was halted in his windpipe as a figure seemed to rise from the ground in the sudden mist.

His gasp was audible even through the wiping wind, and Erik smiled, pleased at the sudden but inexplicable appearance of the fog.

The man quickly regained his composure, setting his stance and he called, "Come out of the shadows, Ghost. I know what you are."

Erik was slightly taken aback, but he could deal with the cockiness of a young Parisian. Though this boy didn't have a native accent… It was strange, sharp, jarring. Erik guessed at English.

"Who dares call the Opera Ghost from his eternal slumber?" Erik called out in his resonating voice.

The man could have stumbled from the power of that voice. It was everywhere, inside his head, in front of him, all around him. It was compelling yet forbidding, he felt as if he should run away, but he was drawn into that sound.

In his own voice that wavered much more than he would have liked it to, he shouted back, "I come for you; it has been my mission for many years to come and destroy the one who destroyed my life…" The words sounded hollow and stupid now he said the out loud in the presence of the commanding voice.

"But young man, your life has not been destroyed, you are an actor- and a good one," The voice purred.

The man watched the shadowy figure dart from where it had been standing to scale a pile of stones. How had it -he- known that? He asked it in a voice that still shook slightly.

"The Opera Ghost knows many things, Kent Surrige," Came his cryptic reply as the figure crouched on the rock-pile.

Kent was startled at the use of his name, even though he knew now he should expect anything from this spectre of a man. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, struggling to grasp the situation when the Ghost continued.

"You move like an actor should move on the stage, your hands are never completely still when you speak, and your diction is surprising, it far surpasses that of any Englishman I have ever had the pleasure of meeting."

Kent would have felt complimented had he not know that his acting ability paled beside that of the shadowy figure swirling around in front of him. Suddenly, for a fraction of a second as the mist between them thinned, he thought he saw the glint of a white mask adorning the figure's pallid, sunken face.

"I know that you are a man," Kent repeated.

"Ah, but can you be sure?" The ghost rumbled mysteriously, rising and leaping to the ground with barley a sound and catlike grace.

Erik was enjoying this, but he had to give the boy credit, he was brave and persistent.

He threw out his arms as he walked forward as if to embrace the boy, making his cape billow impressively.

The man, or Kent, actually took a step back as Erik came towards him, with fear in his bright blue eyes.

Kent took in the advancing figure, the mist clearing enough that he could see the Ghost in all his glory. He was tall, six-and-a-half feet at least, with dark clothing, a formal suit and neatly tied cravat. His imposing outfit was finished with a long cape, made of some light material.

Kent was dwarfed by the Opera Ghost, and now he was all too ready to doubt the words of the intoxicated Box Keeper. Maybe it really was a ghost standing only meters from him; maybe he really had perished in the great fire like so many others.

"You are flesh and blood, just like me, and you will bleed…" Kent said quietly, more to reassure himself of this fact than to inform the 'Ghost' of it.

Kent dipped his hand into the dark wool of his cloak and drew out a pistol, its barrel shining silver in the weak light.

Erik saw the pistol and had to hold himself from baulking. He was not close enough to grab the weapon, but he was still close enough to know it was real and loaded.

He made and exaggeratedly elegant stage gesture with his hands, as if to show he had nothing to hide. "What is the use of killing one who is already dead? Do not waste your bullets, Kent." Erik looked into the sky as light rain again started to sprinkle.

"I can still make sure…" Kent said uncertainly.

Erik faced the boy squarely, staring at him with what he hoped were expressionless, dead eyes. "Do you really want to kill someone though, boy? Why waste such handsome youth and what could be an excellent life rotting in a dirty French prison?"

Kent didn't know if the Ghost was speaking reason, trying to save him, or using manipulative skills to save his own life. Why did a Ghost need to reason though?

What the Opera Ghost said was the truth. If Kent was right, if the Ghost was really human, he did not want a murder pinned on him. But if there was not bullet wound…

Erik watched the boy with apathy, standing perfectly still. The boy seemed to come to a decision, and looked up from the gun in his had with uncertainty.

Then Kurt levelled the pistol at Erik's chest, "You are just a man in a costume," He said with more confidence than he felt.

From somewhere behind Erik there came a gasp, a strangled sob, and Erik prayed that Leah would stay hidden. The Phantom had never dreamed it would come to this, but deep down he knew that he had known it would all along.

Kurt cocked the pistol, and at last the emotionless face behind the white half-mask cracked, fear and regret entered its eyes.

Erik had no time to wonder about the regret, and at the last moment Kent moved his aim from the 'Ghost's' chest to a piece of the room's masonry that still stood.

Before Erik even had a chance to pull the Punjab from his side, the piercing and deafening sound of the gun-shot echoed around the partly closed space.

The shot jarred Kent's pistol arm, and sent him reeling.

The whole scene seemed to slow down. The heavy ceiling stonework fell slowly with a sound like the sky ripping open, Kent righted himself slowly, his pistol-arm lowered slowly. Erik looked up slowly.

The stone crashed down, shrouding the entire area in brick dust and filling it with the sound of crumbling rocks.

Then there was silence.

Kurt coughed, breaking the hush as the dust cleared sluggishly in the misty air.

He waited a long moment before the dust truly cleared, that moment was punctuated by crumbling rocks and sounds of falling debris. When he could, he saw carnage, and this was saying something when he was sitting amidst the ruins of a building.

The ceiling had collapsed as he thought it would, piling itself on the spot where the Ghost had been standing. Dust blanketed everything; Kent wiped it from his eyes and squinted at the rock-pile. There was no movement.

Then he though he heard something. He whirled around, trying to find the source of the sound… It had sounded like a moan…

There wan nothing and nobody about, but he knew there soon would be. Someone had to have heard that gunshot…

He pulled a small silver crucifix from beneath his clothes, kissed it then crossed himself.

"Au Revouir, Monsieur Opera Ghost," He whispered as he turned on his heel and walked quickly away.

Leah was numb. She wanted to cry, she did, but it seemed beyond her abilities.

She wanted to sob at the pain of having her heart ripped from her breast, but she couldn't make a sound.

She had dropped the Trapdoor when the thunderous sound of the ceiling falling had scared the hell out of her, so she had not seen the entire event. But when she opened it again to see the dust clearing, she could see unmistakably what had happened.

Now she sat in the dark rocking back and forth, her arms hugging her knees to her chest and a long, low moan escaped her lips. It was almost inhuman, and she stopped it short as she remembered the man outside.

Pulling her long hair away from her face, she refused to let herself think He was dead. He wasn't, He was the Phantom, with reflexes like a cat, and perceptiveness that was unmatched. How could he have been crushed by a pile of stone and mortar? The materials he had devoted so much of his life to?

She couldn't go out there though, even when she heard the man leave, she couldn't bring herself to face the final demise of the one she loved so much, the one she had lost.

But he wasn't dead, was he? No, he was hiding out in the building site somewhere, making sure the man was well and truly gone.

Then there were numerous sets of running footsteps echoing above her and she froze, barley breathing. There was a jumble of voices, and feet pacing around the room over her. A loud voice suddenly cried, "Clear off, no one should be here in this Death Trap of a place. A part of the roof collapsed, that is all. Now get back to work."

The footsteps retreated in a series of huffs and grumbles, and Leah looked up silently, her eyes still somewhere between denial and overwhelming grief.

When she was sure they were all gone, she gathered together all the scattered shreds of courage she still had left, and lifted the door.

She scrambled out of the gap, and did not stop to pull it out gently when the trailing tatter of her skirt snagged in the closed Trapdoor. She no longer cared.

All she could think about was getting to the fallen rock, and proving to herself he was not there.

She put her hands on the cold hard stone, and tried to shift it. "Erik?" She whispered, her voice sounding weak and empty.

There was no answer, and Leah threw her back against the largest of the rocks on top of the pile. It was heavy and unmoving. Leah picked up a small rock and hefted it against the closest column with a furious cry. _Hard_.

The rock shattered into a million pieces on impact, and Leah slumped down to the ground, letting her back slide down the cold, harsh stone.

She was angry at her pathetic weakness and inability to do anything. When she thought that it was possible the one she loved might be lying entombed in stone only a foot from her back, she almost vomited.

Leah leaned over and wretched and she banished the thoughts almost as quickly as they had materialised.

She looked up into the sprinkling rain, letting it soak slowly into her hot face. The water of the rain replaced what should have been tears.

It felt as if she was cursed that whoever she loved would die. Her mother had been ripped from her, albeit not suddenly and now -she swallowed- Erik was gone.

The words were bitter, final, like three stones dropping into her gut. She felt weighed down, as if she could never get up.

She could sit here forever in the soft rain, inches from him yet miles away, and in time, she told herself, in time the pain would fade.

Then a saline drop joined the pure rainwater on her face. She cried.

Long heavy sobs shaking her body, the tears finally came. For the Opera, for her mother, for her life in the Modern World, for Erik.

Leah struggled blindly to her feet, her sopping hair sticking to her face, and stumbled in the direction she hoped the Trapdoor was.

She tripped on rocks and nothing, she was not with the world enough to notice or worry. At last Leah tripped and fell, and landed on what felt like wet wood. She scrabbled in her personal darkness for the latch, and collapsed wet and dripping into the true darkness of the doorway.

Her lungs ached from breathing deep the cold air, and her clothes were dirty and torn. No Erik to tell her off now. Never again.

Fresh tears flowed, and she did nothing to stop them. He deserved them. She owed them to him.

It was her fault Erik was gone; she should have stopped him, she should have asked him about the man. She should have asked him, begged and pleaded him to stay.

Now she knew what would happen to her love if he went into the world above, she would have gotten on her knees and beseeched him to stay in the Lair. She would have tied him down with his own rope, and covered him with kisses if he had refused.

Leah picked herself up again, and almost crawled to the underground lake.

It was beyond her how she mustered up the strength and coordination to punt the gondola all the way to the shores of the Lair. But all she could think was _what if… _What if she had pleaded? What if Erik had stayed and the man had come down to the Lair to murder them both?

It was her fault he was gone, she was the only on who could have saved him, and she had failed. What if she could go back in time?

Now Leah's thoughts were jumbled and didn't make sense. Not even she could comprehend or translate them anymore. She screwed up her eyes to clear her fuzzy vision, and peered closely at a sheet of music propped up on top of the organ.

It was freshly written, the black and red ink glistening on the yellowed parchment. The first few words on the page under the music were '_I love you'_, written in Erik's curling hand.

The music written there had been crossed out many times, but finally a relatively simple looking tune had been inscribed.

Then she found a familiar looking name on the corner of the sheet. _'Listen to the Music of the Night, Leah. Listen…' _was written in the same elegant cursive script.

Leah's lip quivered and more salty drops coarse their way down her cheeks as she listened, and caught the quiet echo of music in the cave. It wound its way down from the roof, settling around her as in her sadness she was engulfed by the simple, happy, tinkling tune. The last tune he had played before leaving her…

Leah stumbled up more stairs, God, did they ever end? And fell onto the red-silk swan bed. She was so tired… so exhausted.


	13. To A New Day & A New Friendship

Disclaimer: I do not own the Phantom or the Opera. Leah, I do.

Chapter 13

_Leah was dreaming. She breathes raggedly, unevenly, and she tosses in her sleep. Suddenly, she jolts awake, and sits bolt upright. She has just woken from a terrible, horrible dream._

_She puts a shaking hand to her cheek, and feels real tears. She looks in wonder at her damp hand, and rubs the tears between a thumb and forefinger._

_Leah is no stranger to sad dreams or jolting awake from one. She loosens the twisted waist of her light nightdress, and she pulls down the covers of the swan-bed. _

_It is the early hours of the morning, and pitch-dark in the Lair. Water laps slowly at the shore, as it had always done. It was a peaceful scene, nothing like the Lair of her nightmare; blurry, menacing and lonely._

_She never wants to go back to that Lair._

_Leah lies down again slowly, putting her head gently on the silky pillow, letting her chestnut-brown hair fan out behind her. She turns her head to the side, finding Erik lying beside her. The slow, even rise and fall of his chest is reassuring, and she smiles._

_He is wearing no shirt, his perfect, (in her eyes, anyway,) pale chest bared for the whole world to see. But only she could see it. It was for her eyes only._

_His mask gleams bright white in the moonlight._

_The red sheet is pulled up to below his navel, Leah wonders, but dares not lift it, even though she longs to know._

_Instead she looks at him for a moment; props herself up on her elbow, and just looks. She recalls what her mother use to tell her when she was small and she saw beautiful ladies with sparkling jewels and extravagant clothes. "Look, Dear, but don't touch."_

_Leah smirks. _Stuff that_, she thinks._

_She reaches out a finger with a slender nail, and draws it along the edge of the crimson sheet, crossing the line of hair that reaches from his belly-button to his… nether-regions._

_As she does this, Leah leans over and brushes her lips lightly across his, and Erik moans quietly in his sleep._

_Their bodies do not touch, and as he searches for her contact, he lifts a hand to find her. It scrabbles with the air blindly, then falls again. Leah draws her lips away and smiles only millimetres from his mouth. All he has to do is lift his head but a centimetre, and it would be a passionate kiss._

_But Erik is fast asleep, dead to the world, his breathing still slow and steady. _

_Leah decides to leave him, he deserves the rest; she had never seen him sleep much before, and he needed it so much. A tired Ghost was no good for haunting._

_Leah lay back and sighed deeply. It was a beautiful cool night. She reaches out a hand to place it gently on Erik's stomach._

_But her hand does not meet warm flesh; instead it is left to hit the cooling sheets of the swan-bed. Erik is gone._

Leah opened her eyes from her dream. She did not jolt awake, nor was she crying. She smiled lovingly at the wonderful memory of it.

She looked to the side to check that no body lay beside her, hoping beyond hope that she was wrong. Leah looked over to the seat of the organ, but Erik was not there either. She sighed, almost tearing up again.

What was she to do now? It was meaningless for her to stay in the nineteenth century without Erik. She could not save the Opera House on her own, without the Opera Ghost.

Leah couldn't write menacing letters with curling handwriting in French. In this era, she had no power as a woman. Woman in this time sat around and cared for children and looked pretty on their husband's arms at Balls.

But Leah didn't know how to get home, she wasn't even sure if she could. At the present, it appeared as if she had shaken off her twenty-first century home for good.

She drew her knees up and put her head in her arms. It hurt to think so hard, and her stomach was empty.

Leah got up from the bed and searched the cluttered and once-homey Lair for a drink, averting her gaze from the organ and the hastily sketched note on the corner of the parchment.

She picked up a ceramic pitcher of water from a low sideboard; it was painted white and had a small figure playing a violin. Leah's heart thumped loud in her throat, and she swallowed back the fighting tears at the reminder.

Hastily pouring the water, Leah put the glass to her lips and drank quickly. The water hit her gut like a punch, the cold sudden and startling.

She realised she had not eaten anything for an age, and she was starving. She would need to go out to get something to eat… But she wasn't sure she was up to it.

What would Erik have wanted?

Leah chastised herself; those thoughts were so clique and lame. It was true though; she cared and would have at that moment died to be with him again.

Coming to a decision, Leah took her long black cloak off of its hook, and swung it over her dirty white skirt and blouse. She took a small leather coin purse from a table next to the organ and tucked it inside a pocket on her cloak.

With a set expression, she set off towards the Trapdoor.

As she clambered out into the early afternoon, Leah stopped for a moment to listen for any sound. Far off a dog was barking, and somewhere a shouted conversation was taking place.

But there was no low, calm voice whispered at her ear, no commanding presence in her head.

She lowered her gaze, and set off across the building site. It was a long walk, as Leah had chosen to come out from the rear of the Opera House, trying not to attract attention.

When she did reach the street, she made eye contact with no one, she focused intently on the muddy cobbles of the road, and she only spoke a word to excuse herself when she bumped into someone on the bustling footpaths.

As she excused herself from bumping into a particularly old and hassled-looking businessman, Leah recalled Erik's last, long look at her with no trigger at all.

He was just suddenly there in her minds eye, battling back a smile, his eyes shining with something akin to playfulness coupled with regret.

A hiccoughing sob broke from her throat, and she blinked hard. Leah was not going to break down here, in the middle of a busy city street.

After walking for a time, she caught the distinct whiff of warm food on the air, both welcome and nauseating to her starved stomach. She raised her head a little, and pushed aside her hood to peer around. Leah found herself on a small square, surrounded on all sides by high-walled houses, many streets leading off it in all directions.

In the centre of the square there were a few food carts and a scattering of stalls selling everything from glass sculptures to delicately coloured, silky scarfs.

Stall-Keepers called out, advertising their wares loudly, and many people milled around slowly, rugged against the cold of the overcast day.

Leah looked around briskly, remembering her last French market experience with a grimace. This market though was much less busy, and seemed more casual. There was not raucous laughter, no party atmosphere. The people here were normal citizens out on their daily shopping trips, or people grabbing a bite to eat in a quiet corner on a seat.

She set off across the paved square, wandering among the stalls with an expressionless face. A small girl was re-arranging jewellery on one of the tables, and she saw Leah admiring the necklaces.

The girl took one from her collection, studying what Leah was wearing, and held it up to her.

It was a black shining stone, hanging from a fine silver chain to match her raven cloak.

Leah smiled weakly at the girl and shook her head. The necklace was beautiful, and she admired how quickly the girl was able to match the piece to her clothing, but she couldn't afford it.

The girl seemed deflated, and placed the necklace back among the others.

Leah continued to walk, avoiding large crowds of people, and soon found a food cart with no other customers.

She looked at the assorted foods under cloths and behind glass, and her mouth watered.

_Erik will never eat again, _her mind chastised her. Leah closed her eyes to banish the thoughts; they were something she didn't need at that time.

Leah noticed some form of croissant in a basket on the cart, and decided on that, as it was the only thing that she recognised (and the only thing she knew the name of).

The stall owner smiled warmly at her, and asked her what sounded like a question.

He was a kindly looking old man, with grizzled hair and a short beard. Leah felt immediately draw to him, a need to confide in him, but she held back. She tried to communicate to him somehow that she didn't speak French, and she only spoke English.

When he realised what she was trying to say, he smiled and nodded, laughing a little. He stopped to think for a while; it looked as if he was searching for something inside his own head.

"Would… the mademoiselle be wanting… something to eat?" He said at last, if a little haltingly.

Leah smiled back and nodded. She pointed to the pastries, holding up one finger. "One, please."

The man put her order in a bag as Leah fumbled in her coin purse for money. It was only then that she didn't have the faintest idea about French currency or how to pay the man.

The extent of her knowledge was that there were things called Francs, and that the Phantom had demanded twenty thousand of them a month.

"Er…" Leah took out a palm-full of coins and held them out to the man, shrugging sheepishly.

"Three," He said, and Leah handed them to him, receiving the bag in return.

She turned to leave when the man piped up, "Does something… trouble the mademoiselle? She looks… upset."

Leah ran a hand over her face, sighing and thinking if she looked on the outside as weary as she felt on the inside, she would look a wreck.

"It's been a difficult few days, Monsieur," She said.

"Oh, well… look after yourself. Good day," He returned, sensing her unwillingness to talk.

Leah was touched by the kindness of the stranger, and a little part of her dark heart was illuminated. "Thank you, sir. Good day."

She nodded to him and walked to the edge of the square, sitting on a large brick that had been dislodged from the wall behind her.

She unwrapped her purchase and began to eat ravenously, all the time watching the people passing her with alert eyes.

As she came to the end of her meal, (it had been quite good; the pastry had tasted somewhat like a spinach and cheese pie) a man passing through the square caught her eye. He boldly made eye contact and smiled as he saw her returning his gaze.

Leah quickly tore her eyes from his and looked at her feet, suddenly obsessively examining the buckles on her shoes.

Before she knew it, a light shadow was thrown over her, and there was someone standing before her. The weak sunshine that had broken through the blanketing clouds did little to warm Leah though, and she drew her cloak more tightly around herself as she looked up.

The man who stood before her was smiling at her friendlily, his brown eyes crinkling in the corners. "Good afternoon, Madam," He said.

After Erik being the only male voice Leah had heard for quite a time, this man's voice seemed gravely and uneven, almost grating. She blinked hard, and forced a smile onto her lips.

It did not register immediately in her sluggish brain that he had spoken English to her.

She inspected him more closely, and found that he was not unattractive, with his strong jaw and casual brown hair. He was dressed down in comparison to all the other men of his age that Leah had seen, and he did not have the striking appearance or commanding presence of her dark-browed, masked beloved.

She sighed, and went to say 'Bonjour', but halted with her mouth half open; finally realising he had spoken in her native tongue, without an English accent.

"You speak English?" She asked with wonder in her voice. Leah realised this must have seemed rude and odd, but she was too tired to care much at the present time.

The man chuckled, nodding. "What a strange conversation-opener, I can't say I've had that one before," He said. "Yes, I do."

This time, Leah caught an American accent in the way he pronounced his 'r's. Leah settled on the fact that she was becoming quite the accent connoisseur. "I'm sorry sir, it's just I've been in France a long time without anyone but…" She swallowed her next word, her stomach flipping, "Without another native English-speaker. I apologise again and hope you can forgive my brashness. Please sit."

Leah shuffled over slightly on the large brick, and smiled up at him. He sat and sighed, looking sidelong at her.

Leah didn't feel the slightest bit threatened by him, and would quite happily have divulged her deepest secrets to this man, but it seemed she was all too ready to do this of late. She needed a talk.

"I saw you across the square when you were ordering your lunch, and overheard you talking. You see, I too have been a long time in France without an English-speaking friend, but I can speak French at least," He said with the amusement unsuccessfully masked in his voice.

"Yes, well, I was thrust rather suddenly and unceremoniously into my current situation," Leah said, thinking that only days ago she could not have been happier with her state of affairs, even though it had been a great change. "I don't believe we have been formally introduced," Leah continued, turning to him and straightening her cloak about her shoulders, fixing her tousled brown hair, "My name is Leah, pleased to meet you," She stuck out her hand to shake his, momentarily forgetting what century she was in.

The man looked at her outstretched hand for a moment in puzzlement, then took it and turned it slightly, bringing it to his lips and kissing it gently. "The pleasure of making your acquaintance is all mine, Mademoiselle. My name is Jack. Jack Tracey."

"Well Jack Tracey, what brings you to this lonely square on this overcast, cold day?" Leah enquired conversationally.

"Not the same thing that brings you here, I'm sure," He answered. "You look tired. And depressed. Have you lost someone?"

Leah was startled at his perceptiveness, and this must have registered on her face, because he nodded solemnly. Murmuring an 'Ahh…'.

"Yes, I have lost somebody recently," Leah continued, anticipating his next question, "He was a dear, dear friend." She looked down and began to cry, her shoulders shook with the effort of trying to keep the whimpers at bay.

Jack put a hand hesitantly on her shoulder, and expressed his condolences, "I'm sorry, so sorry, I didn't mean to upset you… I think I should go…" He went to get up, but Leah reached out and grabbed his coat tails, preventing his departure.

"No, no please stay, I…" She didn't know what to say, but Jack seemed to have read her mind.

"You looked as if you needed a companion, a talk. You looked so alone."

Leah sniffed and smiled, "You are very good at reading people. More so than most," _except Erik, _she wanted to say.

Jack pulled her to her feet. "A walk, perhaps?" They set off across the open space together at a leisurely pace. "That would come from me being an artist," He held out his hands for her to see, and under his short nails she could see paints of all colours. "They won't come out," He explained. "When you study people for as long as I do, when you draw them every day of your life, you learn. Observing can do a lot, I know many people who would benefit from just sitting back and looking once in a while. I have learnt what the slightest twitch of the mouth means by studying the faces of my subjects."

He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket with a flourish, and presented it to her. "You need it more than I do," He said.

"Thankyou, you've been kind," Leah said to him as they came from the closed in streets out onto one of the many small canals that ran off the Seine.

Jack continued, "That was why I was strolling today, I'm always on the search for new subjects and sceneries to paint and draw."

They walked in silence for a few moments, both deep in thought. "Have you heard of the return of the Opera Ghost? It seems the old fellow is back haunting the skeleton of the old Opera House," Jack said suddenly.

Leah was unprepared, and it almost caught her off-guard, but she gathered herself to answer him. "Yes, curious, I've heard tales of the Ghost and his haunting."

"Why do you think he picked now of all times?" Jack pondered.

"Maybe he has came back to ring in the new century in a big way?" Leah smirked to herself at the though of what her and Erik may have done for the New Year. She could just imagine crashing a party with the Phantom.

Jack nodded, "Maybe so, maybe so. Did you ever go to the Opera Populaire?"

Leah shook her head.

"I was a wonderful place, gloriously opulent. The Operas were so-so; people went more for the social element of the place. It was a somewhere to see and be seen, brilliant spot to study people. Marvellous costume Balls."

"A pity I never saw it then, I love theatre." Leah said, playing dumb.

"You would have enjoyed it. The resident Phantom was an added attraction. Most hated him and wished him gone, they though him a mere nuisance. A few though, thought him fascinating. Interesting character that Ghost, someone who walks around in costume and formal wear all day long, lurking in secret Lairs. I should have liked to meet him…" Jack told her.

Leah had nothing to say in answer to his speech. He was an extraordinary man. Strange, but extraordinary.

Leah sniffed again, dabbing at her eyes with Jack's handkerchief, "What are you working on now? In your painting, I mean,"

"A commission for one of the thousand Duchesses in Paris. I'm almost finished," He answered with passion; he clearly loved his job. "That reminds me. Leah, I really would like it if you would pose for me one day, as a subject. I would love to paint you, you have very expressive eyes; and at the moment they are full of exceptional sadness."

This man was full of surprises. "I don't know…" Leah said unsurely.

"Please, think about it. Take my card, and remember my offer, it will always stand." He pulled a small business card out of one of the pockets inside his coat, and handed it to her.

Leah examined it. It was simple, his name and an address, a small picture of a portrait and '_Professional portrait and landscape painter, at your service._' "Thank you, I will remember."

"I must be off, paintings don't finish themselves. It was wonderful meeting you, Leah." Jack tipped his hat, and headed away. "I hope whoever it is you've lost is never too far from you," He called back to her.

"Goodbye!" Leah waved frantically, having enjoyed the talk and walk.

For almost half of the day it had occupied her mind with thoughts of both Erik and other things, but she was not nearly as depressed as she had been when Jack had met her in the lonely square.

She smiled, looking again at the small card, and realising she had no idea where she was, picked a street at random and began to head back to her secluded abode in the Opera House cellars.


	14. Tea for Two

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom. And I can't be bothered to even try to be amusing in these things any more.

A/N: Random Thought #1256: You know I just realised this story has been going on for almost a year? Wow. Thank you to the reviewers and lurkers that have followed me from the beginning, and to all readers.

Chapter 14

The next morning after much deliberation on her (long) walk home to the Opera and all through the night, Leah had decided to take Jack up on his portrait offer.

She had eaten a small breakfast of bread and cheese that Erik had stored in one of his many small compartments around the Lair.

Leah didn't know how she felt anymore. One moment, she decided that she was numb; completely numb to her situation. Then only seconds later she would almost choke on a flood of tears that she tried to prevent.

As she ate her small breakfast, when she looked up from her seat on an oriental chest, she half expected to find those unusual and brilliant green-gold eyes staring back at her unblinkingly as was her masked companion's wont.

Then the crushing truth came back to her; she was alone.

Leah gathered her cloak and Jack Tracey's card and again headed out of the Lair.

She wandered through the streets for quite a few hours, enjoying the pale early morning sunlight and observing the people who scuttled by.

Yet in the corners of the streets and in deep doorframes, there were deep, dark shadows that the dawn light could not penetrate. Occasionally she would glace sharply to behind her or to her sides; she always though she could see gloomy figures pursuing her through those dark patches.

Leah shuddered and pressed on through the brightening streets. Every now and then she would pause to ask a stranger in half-translated words if she was going the right way, or directions to the street printed in neat calligraphy on the card.

Eventually Leah found herself at the bottom of a narrow flight of stairs leading to a second story.

The building was in a fair area, not as dirty as some streets she had seen in Paris, and its bricks were clean and the flowering plants in a window box on the second story were well cared-for and manicured.

Leah took a deep breath, exhaled and made her way carefully up the stairs.

About half-way up the flight, Leah was halted by a feeling in the pit of her gut. It told her to stop, turn around and go home. The odd thing was there was no sense of danger, no bad feeling, but just an unreal urge to go back.

It took all her mental strength to fight the feeling and push on, coming to the landing in front of a strong looking green wooden door.

She took up the heavy golden lions-head knocker, and let it bang lightly a few times on the door.

Almost before the knocker fell a third time, the door opened and Leah found Jack smiling goofily out at her. He was wearing casual pants and an open-necked shirt, a cravat slung carelessly round his shoulders and his hair unkempt.

"Leah!" He cried happily, "I really didn't expect you to come! This is wonderful!" He went to embrace her, but though better of it, and kissed her hand warmly.

"I didn't think I would either, but the loneliness was beginning to eat at me. So here I am," She said honestly. "And I'll admit: You got me curious," She returned his smile.

"Wonderful, wonderful. Please, do come in. I apologise for the mess, I was going to clean up today…" Jack trailed off sheepishly.

"No, that's perfectly fine. My room was always a mess at home." If Jack thought this an odd statement, he said nothing.

Leah stepped into the little room, and looked around. It was not dark; the large window she had seen with the flowers outside it had its curtains thrown back to admit the weak sunlight. The room was not particularly messy, the small dining area to the left had its table set for one with the dirty plate and glass still out, and the sitting area was strewn with art logs and many books. This was no different to the Lair, really.

Again Leah felt the pull of the Opera House, the strong yet unexplainable urge to go back. The strain of fighting it must have shown on her face, because Jack leaned close and asked, "Are you alright? Is there something bothering you?"

Leah put on a smile, and assured him she was alright. "I'm fine. This is a lovely place."

"Thankyou. I rent it from a wealthy landlord. He's fair but tough; he makes sure I keep it well. I sleep through there," He indicated a door off of the sitting room, and then continued, "But if you will just come through here, I can show you my studio."

As the passed into the next room, Jack explained to her that there was an outhouse in the small backyard.

Jack's Studio was gorgeous. The natural light that came through another large window illuminated the walls of the small room. They were almost completely covered in painting and sketches of all manner of things. There were horses, people, families, animals, scenery, buildings and flowers.

They were true works of art; the flowers truly grew on the walls and it looked to Leah as if she could just reach into one of the river scenes and trail her fingers in the water.

"My God…" She murmured, "They're beautiful…"

Jack seemed to grow a few inches taller. "Again, thankyou, you're too kind. I try, and I like to think that people appreciate what I do."

Leah was lost in the pictures; she was examining a full colour painting of a woman from the waist up. The woman was beautiful, her clothes shone, Leah could see every hair in her elaborate style, and her eyes were expressive.

It was like being able to wander in a room of the materialisation of Erik's music; stunning and surprising, vivid and bright with all emotions clear.

She turned to Jack with misted eyes, "Never stop painting," she told him simply and earnestly.

"I think that's the greatest compliment anyone has ever paid me."

Leah looked out the large window, and found a view of a small fenced yard, and Paris sprawled out beyond it. "Terrific view," She said.

Jack nodded and indicated to one of the pictures hanging by the window where a pencil sketch hung in a simple frame. It was almost the exact same scene with amazing detail, with the only difference being that on the street directly behind the yard leading away from the house walked a man in a long coat carrying an umbrella.

Jack cleared his throat, capturing Leah attention once again. "If you would just like to sit there," He pointed to an old fashioned couch, "We can get started."

Leah made her way around the desk that was positioned facing the window, and sat down gingerly, below a tiger that was flexing its claws threateningly.

Jack pulled up the chair from the desk about a metre in front of her and took up a pad of clean white paper and his pencil. He looked at her scrutinisingly for a few moments and something in his eyes reminded Leah of Erik.

Again she felt a jolt deep in her stomach, but weaker this time, and she managed to pass it off with nothing but a hard blink.

Then Jack came towards her, but his eyes looked as if he was peering past her.

He lent her gently against the arm of the couch, and placed her left hand on her forehead, with her fingers raking back her hair.

"May I?" He asked softly, and Leah nodded, allowing him to drape her hair around her shoulders just _so_.

"Perfectionist?" Leah smirked.

"Artist."

Jack studied her again, taking her in as a whole, sat back, satisfied, and took up his pencil.

Leah did not move for the next few hours, she sat with a set expression and watched Jack work his magic over his canvas. He seldom scrubbed out his efforts with a small lump of grey rubber, and considered her from all angles.

Around lunchtime, when Leah had developed a crick in her neck and was busting to go to the bathroom, Jack closed his pad, put it down and stretched in his chair.

"Can I move?" Leah questioned.

"Yes, yes! Of corse," Jack held out his hand to help her up and Leah accepted it gratefully, flexing her legs and rolling her head in circles.

She them hopped on one leg, hurriedly asking him the quickest way to the nearest bathroom.

Jack opened a door on another set of stairs down to the backyard and the outhouse.

When Leah came back, Jack had set out a salad baguette on a plate on his desk. He stood waiting for her.

"It's nothing much, but I will take you out for dinner, if you would permit it," Jack told her. He pulled out her chair and sat himself saying, "I've been told I'm a terrible cook, so please tell me if it is so."

Leah braced herself as she took the first bite, but was pleasantly surprised. She nodded and smiled to him, eating more.

When they had both finished, Leah went back to her couch, falling almost immediately back into her position, and Jack sat back with his pad.

"Can I see yet?"

Jack shook his head vigorously, "Oh no, you must wait until I finish. It will not be much longer."

He was right. About forty minutes passed, and as Jack looked one last time from his picture to Leah, he put down his pencil.

Leah squealed excitedly, murmuring, "Lemmeseelemmesee!" Under her breath.

Jack sighed and turned his paper to show her.

Leah almost recoiled in astonishment at what stared back at her from the page. For a full minute she was speechless, staring into that paper which had been moulded into a mirror by skilled hands.

"I'm beautiful…" She whispered, looking at the woman on the pad.

Leah recalled peering at herself in one of the hundreds of mirrors littered round the Lair that morning, and concluded that this was not exactly her carbon copy.

She remembered the brown bags under her eyes and her lank hair. The girl in the picture did not have dull hair, but it was bouncy and it shone. The girl's face was unblemished but not unreal, no bags adorned her eyes. As Jack had said and as his remarkable talent showed, they were filled with a sad, lost look.

This girl's lips were also tilted up in a small, depressing smile. Leah could state for a fact that she had not been smiling.

"You like?" Jack asked.

"It's beautiful! Words fail to describe it. It's me, but not me. I'm not as attractive as that now…" Leah said.

"I did nothing but bring out what was inside." Jack informed her.

Leah knew it was true. This woman's expression looked on the outside just as Leah felt on the inside. "You are a true artist."

"Thankyou," Jack accepted the compliment humbly.

He took the picture and put it in one of the folders that were arranged on the shelf along one of the walls. "Will you accompany me to afternoon tea?"

Leah rose, "I think I owe it to you after that picture."

"You owe me nothing, but I appreciate your company."

Jack tied his cravat quickly and slung on a coat that hung on a rack by his front door. He led the way down the stairs, and together they made their way at a leisurely pace to a coffee shop on the riverfront.

They passed an acrobat and a juggler on the street, both competing for an audience, and Jack flicked them both a coin.

Leah smiled at this, and looked at her escort. He had a far-away expression in his eyes and a slight smile quirked his lips.

The café Jack chose was on the river front but was not crowded. He pulled out a chair for Leah at a table by the front window, and sat himself down.

"It's a little too early for dinner," Jack admitted a little miserably. "Earlier than I anticipated."

"Oh?" Leah enquired.

"You were just so easy to draw… it seemed as if I had your portrait in me from the beginning, I just needed to see you and have a chance."

Leah was flattered and told him so, which he replied to with, "It is the truth, and nothing but." There was a twinkle in his eyes as he said this, and he reached out to cover her hand with his as it rested on the table.

"It appears as if we will have to settle with afternoon tea today," He said. "What will you have?"

Leah pulled back her hand, making a show of reaching for a menu, knowing she couldn't read any of it. "What do you recommend? I'm not really up with what's good in little cafes in France."

Jack smiled and called a waitress over. They conversed in quick French that Leah failed miserably to catch any of, and then the girl hurried off.

Leah cleared her throat, "Please tell me you didn't order snails."

Jack leaned back in his chair and laughed. "No, no. Not yet, anyway. Now, what brings you to the fair city of Paris in this wretched winter? It's not exactly the most favoured tourist destination at the moment."

Leah fumbled with her napkin, thinking quickly. "Uh… It was a family issue. My uncle passed away a few months ago, and… we had to come here to sort out his estate."

"Ah. You have lost two people within a short time. My condolences, I've been lucky enough not to suffer the loss of anyone yet," Jack returned.

Leah shifted in her seat, looking out the window at the river, moving slowly south. People stopped at the sides to talk, fish and kiss. Lovers stood in dark corners of the bridges and embraced, and Leah looked down, hiding her moist eyes.

"Could we please move to a brighter subject?" She asked softly, still not meeting Jack's eyes.

"Of corse!" Jack gushed, and he looked around the café quickly. "Er… Do you sing?"

Leah gulped. She didn't know if she could stand to be around this man for much longer, it was too painful. He seemed to be able to hone in on the most difficult subjects for her. But he had been sweet and kind, a friendly face for her when she had no one.

"No, I can't sing."

Jack cocked his head to the side. "It's just you said you liked theatre," He said.

Leah shook her head and forced a laugh. "I couldn't sing to save my life. How about you?"

"No, I don't sing either, though I enjoy music very much. God only smiled on me with a talent for painting, nothing else," He chuckled, "I was short changed, if you will."

Leah almost choked on her sudden anger. Erik had a beautiful talent for music, but nothing else in his life had ever gone in his favour, and this man said _he _was short changed?

"But your talent is breathtaking! More than enough for two people," Leah said, trying to sound cheerful.

Jack nodded, and then noticed the waitress making her way over, weaving her way between the scattered tables with two tall glasses and a plate in her hand.

He waitress announced the order and placed one glass in front of each of them, and put the plate in the middle.

Leah smiled up at the girl as she turned to go.

"Mocha late," Jack explained, "Wonderful."

Leah noticed Jack loved the word 'wonderful'. Then the plate in the centre of the table caught her eye.

It was a lavishly huge slice of a dark cake, its icing thick and chocolaty. That was just what she needed; chocolate.

She picked up her fork and asked Jack with her eyes. He motioned her to go ahead, and she took a generous forkful. It was… wonderful. She stifled a giggle.

Their afternoon tea was tasty, and passed punctuated by small talk and conversation that Leah only half-participated in.

The overwhelming feeling of needing to go back to the Opera faded into a dull wanting, and Leah relaxed as the pale sun sank to the horizon. She felt more comfortable with Jack, he had made no further advances on her, and Leah was grateful.

As lamplights on the waterfront began to burst into flame, Jack drew their meeting to a close, paying the bill and thanking the waitress.

Leah followed him out onto the pavement in front of the café, and looked out onto the river, seeing boats passing at a leisurely pace.

"I will see you again."

It was not a question, but more of a statement; Jack looked at her hard with his brown eyes. Leah was a little taken aback, and drew her cloak more tightly about her shoulders.

"Yes, you will. I'll come to visit you again. Today was enjoyable." Her hand was given the customary kiss, and Jack said his last goodbye.

By this time Leah was itching to leave, the dull wanting had flared up again, and she was almost edging away from him as he dropped her hand and nodded to her.

She cast a hurried smile in his direction and drew hastily out of the pool of light the streetlamp threw on the cobbles. Leah could feel his eyes on her back, and walked more quickly, rounding a corner and plunging into the thinning crowds.

This time she had taken note of the way, and couldn't wait to reach her destination.

As she came onto more quiet streets, she broke into a run, trying not to snag the hem of her whitish dress on her shoes. The hard heels of her boots clicked in a quick rhythm on the uneven cobles as she dashed along.

Several times she almost tripped, and righting herself, rushed on. It was as if she was a fish hooked on some huge line, and she was being reeled in faster and faster all the time.

Eventually she turned into the Opera House square and panting hard, she made her way indirectly to the back door.

As it snapped closed, Leah slumped against the cool wood for a moment. She closed her eyes and sighed, appreciating for a moment the disappearance of the overwhelming homesick feeling.

The silence then began to sink in, and Leah had to move, she didn't feel like facing it now. The large bunch of keys she had kept in her cloak pocket clanked in her hand and she looked at the rough floor of the passage and concentrated on not stumbling.

The warm glow of the Lair brought her head up, and she breathed in its familiar musty and slightly stale smell. She looked around, and began to bend to retrieve a book that had fallen from a table.

Her eyes caught something, and the cluster of eyes slid to the hard stone floor from her nerveless fingers with a clatter.


	15. Return of One Much Loved

Disclaimer: I own nothing much. Certainly not Phantom.

Chapter 15

For a jittery second, Leah looked at the figure of her dark Angel, deducing whether or not he was an illusion.

A smile worked its was across the slightly misshapen lips, Leah could tell from where she stood they were parched.

She could hesitate no longer.

A squeal burst from Leah's lips as she rushed forward, hitting Erik's chest with a resounding _thump_.

Erik had risen slowly from his chair and smiled, shushing her and murmuring sweet nothings to her as he rested his chin of her hair.

"Hush, Mon Ange, I am here." It was only Erik's staying arms that prevented Leah from leaping into his arms.

She buried her face in his shirtfront and breathed slowly, swallowing, trying to prevent the tears that pricked behind her eyes. He smelt no longer of musty roses, but of dust and dirt, and she couldn't have cared less.

"I though you were-" Leah's words where lost in a hiccough, and she squeezed him tighter.

"Laissez-les venir, let them come," Erik said softly to her, and Leah did, she held tight to him and sobbed, letting everything from the past few day flow out of her like water.

For quite a few moments they stood like this, Leah's sobs gently fading, Erik whispering, "Je suis retour, votre ange est revenu à vous, votre ange vous aime, mon cher... Je n'ai jamais voulu vous laisser. Je suis ici, silence maintenant..."

Leah finally parted from him, and looked up into the eyes that she believed she would never see again, but they were changed…

"Je t'aime," Erik smiled down at her and Leah looked up at him with her red and puffy eyes. This time she understood completely.

"Je t'aime aussi," She said, sniffing.

It was now that she stepped back from Erik's tight embrace ad really looked at him. He had a gash on his forehead, and was listing to the right slightly.

"My God, Angel, what has happened to you?" Leah gushed, wiping at her eyes and heading for the jug of water on one of the many side tables. Her head was spinning, her brain just refused to believe that he was back, with her.

"I did have a nasty run-in with some falling masonry, but apart from that, the last few days have been marvelous," Erik said dryly.

Leah blushed, and spilt more water down her dress front as she tried to pour the water with shaking hands, as well as the fact that she really didn't want to take her eyes off of Erik for more than a few seconds at a time. It was as if he might disappear at any second…

"I'm sorry, it's just… I though you were dead!" Leah handed him the glass, and he took it slowly. "Here, you look as if you need it."

Leah noticed that he too was quivering, and insisted that he sat down. He did so grudgingly, and took out a smudged handkerchief to sponge at the wet patches on the chest of her dirty dress.

Leah closed her eyes for a moment, feeling her chest rise and fall with her breathing under his soothing hand. It was odd that he was the one calming her, when he was the one who had been missing for three days.

"I leave you for only a short time, and look what has become of you," Erik said, putting his handkerchief down and taking her hand that shook worse than his.

Leah's eyes opened and she let them wander to a mirror. It looked as if she had aged a two years in days. Her eyes were dark and her skin and hair was dull, and all over she was encrusted with dust and grime.

"You have not even changed your dress!" Erik exclaimed, taking up the ripped skirt.

"I… I didn't know where the other clothes were… But what about you!" Leah bent her head slightly to the gash on his head, and lifted a finger to it. The wound was dry but dirty, and it had not inflamed with infection; Erik had been lucky. Leah didn't know if the medicine in Erik's time had yet advanced past bleeding and tea.

She picked up his handkerchief and dampened it in the water. "The mask, it will need to come off," She said. Without waiting for an answer, she removed the white tough leather and put it aside.

Erik turned slightly from her, he was still sensitive about his 'deformation', but Leah did not flicker and eyelid. Gently but firmly she turned his head back to her, and kissed his red and welted skin.

"I've missed you so," She purred sensually. Leah couldn't have told anyone where the sudden flood of feelings where coming from, but she knew they were there.

Erik shifted his position, and murmured back to her. She cleaned his wound, it was deep and would probably scar, but it would not need stitches. The left side of his face was covered in tiny scratches that Leah sponged, but that still didn't explain the leaning to the right.

"My leg," Erik explained, and Leah crouched to examine his left ankle. It was cut, too, and slightly swollen.

"You've been walking on it, so most likely a sprain. I'll strap it tight."

Erik directed her to a bandage he kept in the Lair, and Leah strapped his ankle, making all the lingering caresses and delicate touches she could.

"Thank you, Mon Ange," Erik said appreciatively.

"Now you must sleep." Leah helped him up and led him to the swan bed, where he removed his coat and Leah untied his neat cravat.

She brushed brick-dust from his body as he unbuckled his boots and lay down. His eyes were closed before Leah could look into them properly, and he sighed heavily.

Leah would have to make her own curiosity and yearning wait for the morning, her Phantom was tired, and battered. He was back with her, and she had maneuvered throughout an hour with him back in the Lair with calm level-headedness. She was proud of herself.

Erik's chest rose and fell in an even rhythm, and Leah whispered, "Know I will always love you."

He had forgotten the mask entirely; it lay discarded on the rocky floor, his 'terrifying' deformation out in the open air.

The reddened skin had cooled, and now it was almost a normal color, his nose melting into his cheek was hardly horrible, the constant chafing of the mask had made it worse that it really was for so many years.

She fought the temptation to caress his welted cheek again, and left him to sleep.

Leah stretched and cracked her back, almost bursting out with a wild laugh. Again the strange feelings, both relief and delight washed over her as she moved to find a new dress.

Leah sorted through boxes and glass-fronted cabinets, and came across what appeared to be a wardrobe in a dusty corner of the Lair. It had a heavy keyhole, which Leah found slightly odd, but it wasn't locked. She sighed thankfully; a treasure hunt in the Lair for a key wasn't what she fancied at the present time.

The old hinges creaked as she levered open the stubborn door, protesting at what appeared to be their first opening in many years. What she discovered, though, proved evidence to the fact that it had, in fact, been opened recently and often.

As well as numerous black and faded dinner jackets, both tailored and unfussy, and also complete suits, hung rows and rows of Punjab Lassos. Leah's hand flew to her mouth to stifle a gasp, and she let go of the door in revulsion. The thick, tough catgut ropes and cords varied from the old and worn to those that looked as if they had been made yesterday.

Leah swallowed he lump that had formed in her throat, and tried to reason with her screaming brain. She knew that her Angel used the infamous Lasso, she had always known this; she had always known him to be the murderer that he was.

As her friends joked, that was part of the reason she was drawn to Erik, he was ruthless and 'evil', a little like her. But watching the deadly havoc and devastation of the Punjab on the silver screen and on stage was very different to looking at one in real life, as she had just found.

Knowing the lethal reality of Erik's weapon of choice, and then stumbling upon his secret store of them in his Lair was shocking. Leah supposed that living with him and knowing him as a human being, loving and reasonable in all respects was deceiving; she had forgotten that he was the silent assassin; The Phantom.

But in that moment, it seemed that Leah accepted all that Erik was and had been. Her Erik may have been a murderer to many people, but he was her Angel. He loved her, and she returned his affection with all her abilities.

Leah gulped again, and shut the door gradually and slowly, as if the pieces of rough cord would come alive and try to throttle her on their own.

After her faith and resolve had been tested so harshly, Leah abandoned her quest for clean clothes, and decided to stick it out for one more night in her old dress.

She collapsed (as gently as she could) on the Swan bed next to Erik, but she was sure that not even a crescendo from his own organ would wake the peacefully slumbering Phantom this night.


End file.
